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THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


How it was successfully played 
by two enterprising boys 






A LITTLE MAN, ATTIRED IN A SHABBY SUIT, AND WITHOUT 
COLLAR, SHAMBLED FORWARD.— Page 194. 













THE 

NEWSPAPER GAME 

HOW IT WAS SUCCESSFULLY PLA YED 
BY TWO ENTERPRISING BOYS 


By 

HIRAM WALLACE HAYES 

*• 


ILLUSTRATED BY 
HAROLD CUE 



BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 

r 














Copyright, 1927, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 

All Rights Reserved 

The Newspaper Game 


Printed in U. S. A. 

IHorwooD press 

BERWICK & SMITH CO. 
Norwood, Mass. 


SE P 2071 


©Cl 61004247 





CONTENTS 


I. A Challenge . . 9 

II. Clever Work . . 22 

III. Grasping an Opportu¬ 

nity .... 39 

IV. An Emergency Arises . 50 

V. Good Business . . 61 

VI. Right and Wrong . 75 

VII. The Battle Begins . 88 

VIII. Foul Play ... 98 

IX. Joe Gets Busy . . 107 

X. Circus Day . . .121 

XI. The Cyclone . . 133 

XII. An Unexpected Visitor 142 

XIII. The Robbers . . . 153 

XIV. A Capture . . .162 

XV. Black’s Hand . . 171 

XVI. A Deep-Laid Plot . 181 

5 



6 

CONTENTS 


XVII. 

A New Witness . 

193 

XVIII. 

Black Escapes 

203 

XIX. 

Joe Takes the Trail . 

212 

XX. 

The Last of Black 

224 

XXI. 

Better Business . 

235 

XXII. 

Old Home Week . 

247 

XXIII. 

Taking Chances . 

257 

XXIV. 

Competition . 

269 

XXV. 

Broadening Out . 

281 

XXVI. 

The New City Editor . 

292 

XXVII. 

Inside History 

304 

XXVIII. 

A Bitter Lesson . 

313 

XXIX. 

A Fire and Its Result . 

324 

XXX. 

The Answer . 

336 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

A little man, attired in a shabby suit, 
and without collar, shambled for¬ 
ward (Page 194) . . Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

Sanger and the four jail-breakers had 
been discovered emerging from the 
side door ..... 38 

Far up among the branches, Joe saw 
two huddled figures . . .170 

“ Evening papers! Argus and Star! ” 290 


7 



The Newspaper Game 


CHAPTER 1 

A CHALLENGE 

“ It can’t be done, my boy! It can’t be 
done! ” 

The speaker, a man with hair already 
tinged with gray, smiled gravely as he 
spoke, the while he observed the enthusiasm 
pictured in the face of the boy to whom he 
was speaking. 

“ No, Joe,” he continued after a brief 
pause, “ I wish I could see it as you do; but 
I can’t.” 

“ Why can’t it be done, Uncle Simon? ” 
queried the youth. 

“ There are a dozen good reasons, but two 
will be enough. One is that there is already 
a good afternoon paper in the city. The 

other is that we have neither the money nor 

9 


10 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


the facilities at present to get out an after¬ 
noon edition of The Argus ” 

“ Are you perfectly certain of that, sir? ” 

“ Perfectly. I know how much it would 
take to buy the extra equipment, and how 
much it would take to put the new enter¬ 
prise on its feet. Besides, didn’t The 
Herald try it some years ago and fail? 
Why, Richardson himself told me he lost 
ten thousand dollars on the venture. No, 
my boy, The Star has the afternoon field 
covered.” 

Joe Hunter smiled, but his eyes lost none 
of their enthusiasm. 

“ Because The Herald failed is no reason 
The Argus shouldn’t succeed,” he declared. 
“ Probably Richardson didn’t go at it 
right.” 

“ Which means, I suppose, that Joseph 
Hunter, Jr., would, eh? ” 

Joe’s face became more serious, but this 
only added to his expression of determina¬ 
tion. 

“ I don’t think I’m able to say that, 


A CHALLENGE 


11 


Uncle Simon,” he replied, “ but I do feel 
certain that what can be made to pay in one 
city can be made to pay in another. When 
The Herald started its afternoon paper, 
conditions were different. You know as 
well as I do that things are not the same in 
Wolverton as they were before the war.” 

‘‘True; but neither is Wolverton as it 
was during the war and immediately there¬ 
after. At least half of those who flocked to 
the factories have gone away.” 

“ But about thirty thousand have re¬ 
mained, sir. Wolverton is almost fifty thou¬ 
sand larger than when The Herald made its 
venture.” 

Simon Hunter laughed aloud. 

“ You put up a good argument, Joe,” he 
said, “ but figure this: How many of the in¬ 
creased population are newspaper read¬ 
ers?” 

“At least a fifth, sir; perhaps a fourth.” 

There was another brief pause, then Si¬ 
mon Hunter asked, “ Just why are you so 
anxious to start this afternoon paper, Joe? ” 


12 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


The boy’s face colored, but his reply was 
to the point: “ I’ll tell you, sir. Here I am, 
ready to enter college,—a thing I’ve always 
expected and worked for,—and now you tell 
me that, since father died and you have been 
obliged to hire an editor, The Argus isn’t 
making money enough to enable me to do 
so.” 

“ That’s the way it looks, Joe. I’m 
mighty sorry, but-” 

“I’m sure an afternoon paper would 
make money,” Joe interrupted. “ That’s 
why I am so anxious.” 

“ Too near Chicago,” declared Simon 
Hunter with a shake of his head. “ The big 
Chicago papers cut into our territory now, 
and-” 

“ They wouldn’t cut into an afternoon 
paper as they do into a morning paper, 
sir,” Joe broke in. 

“ I suppose that’s so; but they do to some 
extent, as The Star is proving every day.” 

“ Because The Star isn’t the right kind of 
a paper.” 




A CHALLENGE 


13 


“ What do you mean? There isn’t a 
cleaner, finer paper anywhere than The 
Starr 

44 I mean that The Star tries to cover the 
world news too fully. If an afternoon pa¬ 
per here were confined largely to local 
news-” 

“ That’s where you make your mistake, 
my boy. We must have the news of all the 
world and play it up big.” 

Joe shook his head emphatically. 

44 1 don’t believe it, Uncle Simon. Let 
the people of Wolverton get world news 
more fully, if they wish, from the big news¬ 
papers and magazines; let the local paper 
give the local news. I believe that is where 
The Herald showed poor judgment, and I 
don’t expect to succeed where good men 
have failed.” 

Mr. Hunter shook his head, and after a 
moment Joe continued: 

44 Let me explain, sir. While I was in 
New York during the holidays I was at¬ 
tracted to a little afternoon paper which I 



14 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


saw in the hands of almost every one. Upon 
inquiry, I learned that this paper is growing 
rich printing local news that the big papers 
neglect.” 

“ What’s that? ” asked Mr. Hunter, with 
more interest. 

“ One of the best newspaper men in New 
York told me that. He said that the big 
New York papers had become so used to 
printing world-wide news during the war 
that they seemed to have forgotten their 
own town—in fact, that they had neglected 
local news. Along comes this new paper— 
a tabloid, at that—and prints almost noth¬ 
ing but local news. The result is that its 
circulation is limited only to the millions 
who are anxious to know what is happening 
at home.” 

“ But Wolverton has no such population 
as that.” 

“No, but it has more than a hundred 
thousand; and a hundred thousand people 
make news.” 


“ Enough to fill a paper? ” 


A CHALLENGE 


15 


I think so. It might not interest people 
in other cities, but it would interest us.” 

Simon Hunter drew a long breath. 

“ I wish I had your enthusiasm, Joe,” he 
said, “ but I can’t see it your way. It will 
take something more than argument to con¬ 
vince me.” 

Joe’s face fell. 

“ There doesn’t seem to be any other 
way,” he answered dismally. “You are 
president and general manager of the com¬ 
pany, while Mother and I are only stock¬ 
holders.” 

“ You might vote me out,” suggested Mr. 
Hunter with a twinkle in his eye. “ The 
two of you could do it.” 

“ Yes, I know; but there is no possibility 
of that. We both trust you, you see, and 
don’t know what we should do without you.” 

“And because I am responsible for the 
conduct of the business, Joe, I shall have to 
decide against you,” said Mr. Hunter. 
“ We’ll stick to the morning field, for the 
present.” 


16 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ Just as you say. Uncle Simon, but if I 
ever get a chance I’ll show you.” 

“ In the meantime, Joe,” Mr. Hunter 
went on, “ I want you to become a part of 
The Argus force and assume an active hand 
in the business.” 

“ I suppose I should, Uncle Simon. 
When shall I begin? ” 

“ Right away. You have finished high 
school with honors, and have passed a cred¬ 
itable entrance examination to Ann Arbor. 
But as long as you are not able to do as you 
had planned, I think you should go to 
work.” 

“ As a reporter, I suppose? ” 

“No. Some day the management of this 
property will pass into your hands. There¬ 
fore, I think you should come into the busi¬ 
ness office. I am going to make you my as¬ 
sistant.” 

“ What will Mr. Black and some of the 
other executives think of that, sir? ” 

“ I am sure it is only what they would ex¬ 
pect. You are now eighteen. In less than 


A CHALLENGE 


17 


three years you will attain your majority, 
so that you may justly expect some recogni¬ 
tion. I think you should learn the busi¬ 
ness.” 

“ I feel that I know a good deal about it 
already, sir.” 

“Yes, your vacation experience as a re¬ 
porter has helped.” 

“ But, of course, I am anxious to learn 
more, sir.” 

“ That is why I am giving you the oppor¬ 
tunity.” 

“And maybe a little later you’ll give me 
a chance to try out the afternoon-paper 
idea,” laughed Joe. 

“ Perhaps—when we have enough money 
so we can afford to lose ten thousand dol¬ 
lars.” 

Mr. Hunter turned to his desk, with the 
remark that he would expect Joe to be on 
hand in the morning, while the young man 
betook himself to the editorial department 
on the second floor. 

It was four o’clock in the afternoon, and 



18 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


the editorial rooms were deserted except for 
three men. One of these was Willoughby 
Black, the managing editor; another was 
Padman, exchange editor and editorial 
writer, and the third was the city editor, 
Grant Barton, better known as “ Red.” 

It was to the desk of the city editor that 
Joe made his way. 

Grant Barton and Joe had been friends 
for years, but they had never been chums, 
although there was a difference of less than 
three years in their ages. While Joe had 
enjoyed the advantages of a boy with a 
well-to-do and rather prominent father, 
Grant had been left an orphan at an early 
age and had been forced to make his own 
way in the world. 

From his shock of red hair Grant had ac¬ 
quired the nickname of “ Red ” when he 
first began to sell papers on the streets of 
Wolverton. When he became excited, his 
hair fairly bristled and seemed to grow red¬ 
der still. 

Red was a hustler. It had been this 


A CHALLENGE 19 

characteristic that first attracted the atten¬ 
tion of Colonel Hunter, Joe’s father. Four 
years before Colonel Hunter died, Red had 
appeared in the office with a tip on one of 
the biggest stories in the history of The 
Argus . Later he turned in other stories, 
and finally won a place as a reporter. Sev¬ 
eral years later, when a new city editor was 
needed, Grant was given the place. 

There was not an inch of Wolverton that 
Grant Barton did not know. Likewise he 
knew the people. He knew their business 
and he knew their peculiarities. He knew 
the city officials and the banks and big con¬ 
cerns—the factories, wholesale houses, and 
prominent retail stores. And he had culti¬ 
vated these acquaintances until he had 
gained the confidence of all. His work had 
given him a good and accurate command of 
language. 

But in spite of his broad acquaintance 
and his thorough knowledge of the people, 
he had never been able to convince Simon 
Hunter or the managing editor of The Ar - 



20 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


gus that it was the part of wisdom to give 
local news the most prominence in the 
paper. 

When Joe returned from New York the 
previous winter and told him about the tab¬ 
loid that was making money out of purely 
local news, Grant was deeply interested. 

“ That’s the kind of a paper we ought to 
have here,” he declared. “ Why don’t you 
get your uncle to try it? ” 

This thought had taken possession of Joe 
when he learned the financial condition of 
The Argus . Several times he had men¬ 
tioned it to his uncle, but not until to-day 
—when Joe saw his college course go glim¬ 
mering—had they threshed the matter out. 

That is why Joe approached the city ed¬ 
itor’s desk with a long face. 

“ It’s no use, Red,” he said. “ Uncle Si¬ 
mon says he’ll never try an afternoon edi¬ 
tion until he can afford to lose ten thousand 
dollars.” 

“ Or until he loses ten thousand by stick¬ 
ing to old-fashioned methods,” laughed 



A CHALLENGE 21 

Grant, looking up from his assignment 
book. 

“ Do you think we’re likely to do that? ” 
asked Joe anxiously. 

“Not unless The Star suddenly wakes 
up to the newspaper game.” 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“You don’t expect to see a good thing 
running around loose forever, do you? If 
we don’t get busy on this local stuff, The 
Star may beat us to it.” 

“ I believe you’re right, Red, but what 
can I do? ” 

Their conversation was interrupted by 
the tinkling of the telephone bell. Barton 
put the receiver to his ear and called 
“ Hello.” And the expression on the city 
editor’s face as he listened to the message 
the wire carried caused Joe to ask, “ What 
is it, Red? ” 

“Jail delivery! Four of the worst crimi¬ 
nals in the city jail have escaped. I’ll see 
you later about that other deal. Right now 
I’ve business to attend to! ” 


CHAPTER II 


CLEVER WORK 

When Grant Barton said he had busi¬ 
ness to attend to, he meant it. It was not 
enough for him to assign his police reporter 
to the case and take his chances. He 
wanted all the facts he could get. 

Furthermore, Grant considered it the 
business of The Argus to help capture the 
fugitives, if it were possible. He went on 
the theory that the police would fail. True, 
they might not, but if they did fail, all he 
would get would be a bundle of excuses, 
which was not a story. Just how the crim¬ 
inals had eluded the police would make a 
good story, perhaps, but criminals are not 
given to story-writing. 

As Grant turned from the telephone, 
Blake, the court reporter, was just coming 
into the room. In a few brief sentences he 
was informed of the jail delivery. 

22 


CLEVER WORK 


23 


“ Go down and see Doc Hansen/’ in¬ 
structed Grant, naming a reformed gam¬ 
bler. “ He knows every crook in the coun¬ 
try, and will be able to name a possible out¬ 
side accomplice in this break/’ 

Towne, who covered railroads, ought to 
be at the Union Station at this hour. Grant 
reached him by telephone. Towne was in¬ 
structed to watch the railroad yards. 

Then Grant called up the police reporter 
who had given him the first information. 

“ Go out with the wagon, if it goes,” he 
ordered. “ I’ll have some one else watch 
headquarters.” 

He hung up the telephone and turned to 
Joe. 

“ I’m short a man to-day,” he explained. 
“ Guess I’ll have to go up and take a look 
at the jail myself.” 

“ What’s the matter with me? ” asked 
Joe. “ I’ll go, if you like.” 

“ Glad to have you. Get a good look at 
the surroundings and have Warden Foster 
give you the details of the escape.” 


24 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Joe waited for no further instructions. 

An empty taxi stood in front of The Ar¬ 
gus office. 

“ City prison,” Joe ordered as he jumped 
in. 

Arrived at the jail, Joe made his way to 
the warden’s office, where he found that of¬ 
ficial in conversation with Ben Fullerman, 
a reporter for The Star . 

The warden was considerably disturbed. 

“ I don’t know how they managed to es¬ 
cape,” he was telling Fullerman with no 
little vehemence. “All I know is-” 

He stopped short as he caught sight of 
Joe. 

“Hello, Hunter!” he exclaimed. “I 
suppose you have come to make more trou¬ 
ble? ” 

“ No, indeed,” was Joe’s reply. “ I’ve 
come to help out. Isn’t that so, Ben? ” 

“Absolutely,” declared Fullerman. 

“Humph!” grunted the warden. “All 
you do is make trouble. I wish there wasn’t 
a reporter-” 




CLEVER WORK 


25 


“Now, Warden,” laughed Joe, “you 
know that isn’t so. Come, be a good fellow 
and tell us all about it.” 

Warden Foster’s face relaxed. 

“ There isn’t much to tell. You see-” 

“ Let’s have the names first,” and Joe 
took an old envelope and a pencil stub from 
his pocket. 

“ Lefty Allen must have been the ring¬ 
leader,” said the warden. “ He’s just been 
sentenced to twenty years for safe-blowing. 
The others were Art Willing, a member of 
Allen’s gang, and Tom Wilson and Henry 
Simson, the last three sentenced to do five 
years each for burglary. All were to be 
taken to the penitentiary to-morrow.” 

“ How did they escape? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ You’re the warden, aren’t you? ” de¬ 
manded Joe. 

“ Yes, but not the guards.” 

“ What do the guards say? ” 

“ Not much.” 

“ Now, look here, Warden,” said Joe, 



26 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ you don’t want me to print in The Argus 
to-morrow morning the fact that four men 
have broken jail and Warden Foster 
doesn’t know anything about it, do you? ” 

Fullerman laughed aloud. 

44 That’s what I have been trying to make 
him see,” he declared. 44 It looks rather 
suspicious.” 

44 It sure does,” Joe agreed. 

“What do you mean?” exclaimed the 
warden, his anger beginning to rise. 44 You 
don’t think I let them out, do you? ” 

44 How should we know? ” 

There were several moments of silence be¬ 
fore the warden spoke. 

44 See here, boys,” he said finally, 44 this is 
the first time anything like this has hap¬ 
pened since I have been warden. I don’t 
like to say anything until I have made a 
thorough investigation.” 

44 That’s all right, Warden, but what do 
the guards say? ” 

44 Well, their story is that, as the men 
were being marched through the yard an 


CLEVER WORK 


27 


hour ago, they made a break for the gate. 
Near the gate three of the guards were 
standing together. As the prisoners ap¬ 
proached, Allen flashed a revolver. Where 
he got it, nobody seems to know. He cov¬ 
ered the three guards while the others 
rushed the gate. Then he went after them. 
That’s all I know.” 

“ How did three guards happen to be 
standing together at a time like that? ” 

“ That’s what I am trying to find out. 
Of course, had they been in their proper 
places, the thing could not have hap¬ 
pened.” 

“ Didn’t they make any effort to stop the 
prisoners? ” 

“Apparently not. When I questioned 
them, they seemed to think it was all rather 
a joke.” 

“ Where are they now? ” 

“ Under arrest in the cells where the fu¬ 
gitives should be.” 

Joe and Fullerman nodded their under¬ 
standing. 


28 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ Looks like bribery,” the latter re¬ 
marked. 

“ Very much,” the warden agreed. “ But 
I don’t want to make any charges until I 
have investigated further.” 

“ That’s fair,” said Joe. 

“ I hope you boys will say a searching in¬ 
vestigation is being made,” continued the 
warden. 

“ Sure!” 

“And in the meantime everything pos¬ 
sible is being done to recapture the fugi¬ 
tives.” 

“ You’re sure that’s so, Warden? ” 

“ To the best of my knowledge.” 

“Any clues? ” asked Joe. 

“ Well, a man who was standing in the 
little cigar store across the street claims to 
have seen them drive away in an automo¬ 
bile.” 

“ He does, eh? ” 

“Yes; says he noticed an automobile in 
front of the prison door, but thought noth¬ 
ing of it. Then he saw the gate open, and 


CLEVER WORK 


29 


before he had time to think, the prisoners 
rushed out, jumped in the machine, and 
were speeding down Woodford Avenue a 
mile a minute.” 

“ Then what? ” 

“ That’s all. The guards rushed out, and 
he came across the street to see how it hap¬ 
pened.” 

“ That shows they had outside help,” 
said Fullerman. 

“ Doesn’t take much of a sleuth to figure 
that out,” Warden Foster agreed. “ Auto¬ 
mobiles don’t drive themselves.” 

“Was that the last you heard of them? ” 
asked Joe. 

“Yes. We have telephoned in every di¬ 
rection, but the car seems to have vanished 
in thin air.” 

“ What other steps have you taken to 
capture them? ” 

The warden walked to the door and 
opened it. 

“ This interview is over,” he declared 
grimly. “ I’ve told you all I know. I will 


30 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


add this, which I hope you’ll publish: The 
city and county are being scoured for the 
fugitives. Lookouts have been posted 
everywhere. They can’t get away, and I 
expect to have them all back here inside of 
twenty-four hours. You’ll have to excuse 
me now, as I am busy.” 

“ All right, Warden. Success to you! ” 

The reporters left the jail and stood for 
a moment beside the taxi, which Joe had or¬ 
dered to wait. 

“ Sounds like a pretty straight story,” 
said Fullerman, referring to what the 
warden had said. 

“ I think so,” Joe agreed. “ The old man 
is considerably upset. But jump in, Ben. 
I’ll give you a lift down-town. We must 
keep on being good friends.” 

A few minutes later Joe returned to The 
Argus office and made his report to the city 
editor. 

“Write it!” directed Grant Barton 
briefly. 

Joe did so, and turned in his copy twenty 


CLEVER WORK 


31 


minutes later. Grant picked it up and pe¬ 
rused it carefully. 

“Any other clues? ” asked Joe, as Grant 
glanced up. 

Young Barton smiled. 

“Not a single man has reported except 
you,” he replied. “ Do you see anything 
in this story of yours that looks sus¬ 
picious? ” 

Joe shook his head. 

“ You don’t see anything strange about 
the inability of the police to get a line on 
that mysterious automobile? ” 

“ Not particularly. It happens that way 
every once in a while.” 

Red Barton grinned again. 

“Yes, I know it does,” was his reply. 
“Automobiles carrying half a dozen persons 
simply vanish into thin air. Once in a while, 
though, the solution is found, and I’ve 
reached a conclusion about this mystery.” 

Joe showed his surprise. 

“ Don’t see it yet, eh? ” asked Grant. 

“No, I don’t. What’s the answer? ” 


32 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ Why, the answer is simple enough. 
The man who told the warden he saw the 
convicts enter an automobile lied. That’s 
all.” 

“ What!” 

“ You heard what I said.” 

“ Do you think he’s an accomplice of the 
escaped convicts? ” 

“ That’s the way it looks to me.” 

“ How are you going to prove it? ” 

“ First, I’m going to get the record of the 
cigar-store keeper. That’s a job for you. 
Find out who he is, and how long he has 
been there.” 

“ Why, the store has been there for sev¬ 
eral years.” 

“ Same man running it? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know about that,” replied 
Joe. 

“ Well, find out. But don’t ask the po¬ 
lice.” 

By six o’clock Joe was back with the in¬ 
formation that the store had changed hands 
a month previously. 


CLEVER WORK 33 

“As I expected,” said Barton. “ What 
else? ” 

“ The chap who runs it now is known as 
a jolly good fellow, and the store has be¬ 
come a great loafing-place for jail em¬ 
ployees when off duty.” 

“ That helps. Get his name? ” 

“ Oh, yes; Smith.” 

“ Unusual name,” remarked Grant 
grimly. 

Joe grinned, indicating that he appre¬ 
ciated the sarcasm. 

“ Best I could find out,” he said. 

“ Well, I’ve done better than that,” said 
Grant. “An old friend of mine dropped in 
here about half an hour ago at my request 
and recognized the man at once. He’s 
4 Buck ’ Sanger, of Chicago, who has been 
tried twice for bribery.” 

“You don’t say! ” 

“You bet I do!” 

Joe rubbed his hands. 

“ Great! ” he exclaimed. 44 What next? ” 

44 Well,” said Grant slowly, 44 1 suppose 


34 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


we’ll have to tell the police. I’ve been wait¬ 
ing until I felt sure Chief Harrigan was in 
his office.” He glanced at the clock. “ He 
should be there now,” he went on. “ Sup¬ 
pose we drop over and see him? ” 

The chief greeted them pleasantly. 

“ Don’t see you often these days,” he said 
to Barton. 

“ No,” Red laughed. “ They keep me 
pretty close to my desk, but every now and 
then I have to put my finger in.” Then, 
after a moment’s pause, “ Chief, do you 
know who is running the cigar store across 
from the city jail? ” 

“You mean Berger’s place? ” 

“ Why do you say Berger’s? Didn’t you 
know the place had changed hands? ” 

“ Why, no. I don’t get down that way 
very often. So it has changed hands, has 
it?” 

“ Oh, yes,” laughed Grant. “ Man by 
the name of Smith is running it.” 

“ Smith? What Smith? ” 

“ Oh, John, I suppose,” grinned Barton. 


CLEVER WORK 


35 


The chief caught the smile and recog¬ 
nized its significance. 

“ Come on, Red! ” he exclaimed. “ Out 
with it! ” 

“ Well, Chief, the man who is running 
Berger’s old place is Buck Sanger of Chi¬ 
cago! ” 

Chief Harrigan sprang to his feet. 

“Buck Sanger!” he almost shouted. 
“ Who told you? ” 

“ Sorry I can’t tell you, Chief, but you 
can wager my information is correct. By 
the way, I suppose you know all about the 
jail delivery? ” 

Chief Harrigan nodded, and gradually a 
grin spread over his face. 

“Yes, I know all about the jail delivery,” 
he replied. “And I know a few other 
things, too. There are going to be some 
changes in the force soon. How would you 
like to be chief of detectives? ” 

“ No, thank you,” laughed Grant. “ I’ve 
got a good job, haven’t I, Joe? ” 

Joe declared that he had. 


36 TH*E NEWSPAPER GAME 


“All right then,” laughed the chief. 

“ But now let’s get busy.” 

■ 

Half an hour later a cordon of detectives 
had been thrown around the cigar store. 
When every seeming avenue of escape had 
been guarded, a wagon load of police raided 
the place. 

While the raid was clearly a surprise, 
there was nothing suspicious when a police 
lieutenant, accompanied by Grant Barton 
and a plain-clothes man, entered the place a 
moment before the raid began. 

It was quickly apparent, however, that 
Grant’s theory was correct, for when he ad¬ 
dressed the man by the name of Sanger, the 
latter leaped across the floor into another 
room and slammed the door in the faces of 
his visitors. 

The door fastened with a spring lock, and 
it took several minutes for the police to 
force it open. When they did, the adjoin¬ 
ing room was vacant except for a pile of 
empty boxes and a few chairs. 

At the far side of the room the raiders 


CLEVER WORK 


37 


eventually found a trap-door, upon which 
the boxes lay in great disorder. Evidently 
Sanger had gone down the cellar way, up¬ 
setting the boxes behind him to conceal his 
means of disappearance. 

While the police were still searching the 
place an alarm was raised outside. 

Sanger and the four jail-breakers had 
been discovered emerging from the side door 
of a building adjoining the cigar store. 

The fugitives were quickly surrounded by 
detectives and police, and they surrendered 
without a struggle. 

Further search of the premises disclosed 
a short tunnel connecting the cellar of the 
cigar store with that of the building next 
door. 

The jail delivery had been carefully 
planned, and would have undoubtedly 
proved successful had not Red Barton’s 
newspaper training and instinct given him 
the clue that resulted in the re-arrest of the 
criminals. 

“ Glory enough for one day, Red,” re- 


38 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


marked Joe as they ate their supper in a 
near-by restaurant an hour later. 

Barton smiled as he looked at his compan¬ 
ion over the edge of his coffee cup. 

“ Yes,” he replied, “ and fortunately we 
were able to hold the story up so long that 
it was too late for the afternoon paper to 
get out an extra.” 



Sanger and the four jail-breakers had been discovered 
EMERGING FROM THE SIDE DOOR .—Page 37 . 





CHAPTER III 


GRASPING AN OPPORTUNITY 

A month later found Joe Hunter in¬ 
stalled as assistant to his uncle in the count¬ 
ing-room of The Argus . 

Joe would much rather have gone to work 
in the editorial department, but he realized 
that, as part-owner of the paper, it was 
absolutely necessary that he become ac¬ 
quainted with the financial end of the busi¬ 
ness if he were ever to be its general man¬ 
ager—the position his uncle now held. 

As part-owner of the paper, too, he knew 
that when he attained the proper age he 
would probably be able to dictate its policy, 
and he determined that, when that time 
came, if it were not then too late, he would 
try to do something different. 

For the present, he started in to learn all 
he could about the business end of the pub¬ 
lication. 


39 


40 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


For the benefit of the young readers of 
this story who are not familiar with the 
making and publishing of a daily newspa¬ 
per, it may be stated that the business is di¬ 
vided into four departments, namely, me¬ 
chanical, editorial, advertising, and circula¬ 
tion. 

The mechanical department consists of 
four subdivisions: the composing-room, 
where the type is set and the paper made 
up; the photo-engraving room, where the 
pictures are made into etchings, from which 
they are printed; the stereotyping-room, 
where is cast from the various pieces one 
solid plate; and the press-room, where the 
paper is finally printed. 

The editorial department is where all the 
news and editorial features are written. 
This department, also, is variously subdi¬ 
vided, not all papers being conducted in the 
same manner. Generally speaking, how¬ 
ever, there is a local, or city, department; a 
telegraph-news department; a Sunday, or 
feature, department; an exchange depart- 


GRASPING AN OPPORTUNITY 41 

ment, where papers from all over the world 
are read and clipped; and the editorial de¬ 
partment, where the leading articles are 
written, and where the policy of the paper 
is determined. On the larger papers there 
is also an art department, which naturally 
comes under control of the general editorial 
management. 

Each of these departments has its head. 
There is a city editor, a telegraph editor, a 
feature, or Sunday, editor, an exchange ed¬ 
itor, and a managing editor—the latter in 
command of all the others. Then there is 
the editor-in-chief, who has nothing to do 
with the news end of the paper, but who, 
with his assistants, writes the editorials. Of 
course, the number of employees, such as 
reporters, copy-readers, and assistants of 
various kinds, depends upon the size of the 
paper. 

The advertising department has charge 
of getting the advertisements which form so 
large a part of the revenue of the paper. It 
is in charge of an advertising manager, who 


42 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


has as many solicitors under him as the busi¬ 
ness demands. 

The circulation department attends to the 
distribution and sale of the papers. It is in 
charge of a circulation manager, who has a 
corps of assistants. Under his management 
are the newsboys, news-stands, and route 
agents. The success of a newspaper de¬ 
pends to a large extent upon the ability of 
the circulation manager, who is frequently 
a man who began his career as a newsboy. 

This was the case on The Argus. 

Roberts, the circulation manager, now a 
man of thirty-five, had helped sell and dis¬ 
tribute papers for twenty-five years of his 
life. He had begun his career in Wolver- 
ton, but had spent ten years on two of the 
big Chicago dailies, and he knew about all 
there was to know about the game. 

There is still another part of the news¬ 
paper, which is not usually called a depart¬ 
ment, although it really is. That is the 
financial department. The newspaper man 
usually refers to it as the counting-room. 


GRASPING AN OPPORTUNITY 43 


It is the duty of this department to handle 
all the financial affairs of the paper. 

The man in charge of this work is known 
as the business manager. In The Argus or¬ 
ganization Simon Hunter held this position, 
but; because he also was one of the owners, 
he was likewise general manager. 

Joe was learning to be his assistant. 

It might seem that this was a big job for 
a lad not yet nineteen; but it must be re¬ 
membered that Joe had grown up around 
the newspaper office, and that the various 
departments were as familiar to him as the 
house in which he lived. 

Any boy whose father is in business for 
himself will understand this. He is in or 
out of the store or factory so much that he 
simply absorbs the information. 

As has been said, Joe had had some prac¬ 
tical experience in the editorial department, 
having worked as a reporter his last two 
summer vacations. 

The first summer he was of little real 
value. In fact, he had been little more than 


44 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


a messenger boy for the city editor. But 
the next summer he had been given a regu¬ 
lar assignment, and he covered it with glory 
to himself. Particularly had he earned 
credit for the manner in which he had cov¬ 
ered a railroad wreck. 

One of his assignments had been to watch 
for news at the Union Station, used jointly 
by the three railroads running into Wolver- 
ton. This may seem a simple assignment, 
but that is not always so. While railroad 
officers are always eager to announce such 
matters as will be of benefit to the road, 
they are often secretive about other matters; 
particularly is this true of accidents. 

One night Joe was making his last round 
at the Union Station. Number Eight, east- 
bound from Chicago, was due at eleven-fifty. 
It was a limited train, usually on time. 

But this night Number Eight was late. 
Joe strolled over to the train dispatcher’s 
office. 

There had been no report on the train 
since it left Warsaw, about twenty miles 


GRASPING AN OPPORTUNITY 45 


west, more than forty minutes before. 
Therefore, as it was a fast train, Joe knew 
it must have met with some sort of an acci¬ 
dent ; it might be slight or it might be serious. 

Occasionally trains were held back just 
outside the city limits, where the freight 
yards were located. At this point, too, the 
State highway crossed the tracks. On the 
corner of an intersecting street, half a block 
from the railroad tracks, was a drug store. 

Thinking it barely possible that the train 
was being held at this point, Joe decided to 
telephone an acquaintance in the drug store. 

“ Hope they haven’t closed,” he muttered 
as he hurried to the telephone. 

His call brought unexpected results. 

“ That you, Jerry? ” he asked, as a voice 
said “ Hello.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ This is Joe Hunter from The Argus . 
Seen anything of Number Eight out 
there? ” 

“ Well, I should say so. She’s mixed up 
with a switch engine.” 


46 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ What’s that? ” 

“You heard me the first time. She ran 
into a switch engine that didn’t get out of 
the way fast enough.” 

“Any one hurt? ” 

“ Three or four. Both firemen may be 
dead.” 

Joe stopped to hear no more. 

Without waiting to call up the office, he 
commandeered a taxi and sped for the scene 
of the wreck. It was a good two miles, and 
it was twelve-thirty when he reached there. 

The mail edition of The Argus went to 
press at one-thirty. This gave Joe just an 
hour to get all the details, have it put in type 
at the office, and make the first edition. 

Joe stopped at the drug store long 
enough to ask Jerry to telephone the office 
for him. 

“And be sure to hang around,” he said as 
he started for the wreck. “I’ll want to 
come back and ’phone when I have gathered 
all the facts.” 

“All right,” said Jerry. “ I’ll wait.” 


GRASPING AN OPPORTUNITY 47 

The wreck was in the dark. There were 
a number of men, mostly passengers, stand¬ 
ing around when Joe reached the scene. 
The wrecking crew had been summoned, but 
had not yet arrived. 

Joe finally located the conductor of the 
Limited. Like all railroad officials at a time 
like this, he refused to talk. 

“ Switch engine’s fault,” was all he would 
say. 

Then Joe got busy. He examined the 
switches and the lights. While the rails had 
been thrown out of place, the lights were 
still set against the Limited. There was no 
question where the fault lay. 

Next he got hold of the switchman and 
wormed enough out of him to justify his 
own conclusions. From the switchman he 
also got the names and addresses of the en¬ 
gineer and fireman of the switch engine, and 
the fact that the engineer and fireman of the 
Limited lived in Chicago. From the brake- 
man of the Limited he obtained the names 
of these men. 


48 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


By this time the wrecking crew had ar¬ 
rived. 

The very first flash of the searchlight 
upon the wreck showed the bodies of all 
four enginemen pinned beneath the wreck¬ 
age. They had been killed instantly. 

Joe hurried back to the drug store and 
found the place dark. 

“ This is a nice mess,” he muttered. 
“ Jerry said he’d wait.” 

He tried the door, but it was locked. 

“ Oh, Jerry! ” he called. 

“ S-s-sh! ” came a voice out of the dark¬ 
ness. “ Come around to the back door.” 

Joe followed instructions. 

“ What’s the matter? ” he demanded. 

“ Reporter for The Herald just arrived. 
Tried to get in to telephone. Mad as a wet 
hen because he couldn’t.” 

“Oh, fine!” exclaimed Joe. “I hadn’t 
expected a scoop, but here goes.” 

Grant Barton himself answered the tele¬ 
phone when Joe called the office. 

“ Waiting for you,” he said briefly. 


GRASPING AN OPPORTUNITY 49 

He switched Joe on to his fastest re-write 
man. 

Fifteen minutes later a half-column story, 
complete as to details, was in the compos¬ 
ing-room and in type. 

And not a single important fact had been 
omitted, and not a single statement ever had 
to be changed, although official investigation 
of the wreck lasted several days. 

It was because Joe, on several such occa¬ 
sions, had proved his ability as a reporter, 
that he would have preferred to stick to the 
news-gathering end of the paper; but he was 
one of those boys who use their heads, and 
consequently agreed with his uncle that his 
present need was to learn the financial end 
of the business. 


CHAPTER IV 


AN EMERGENCY ARISES 

Joe Hunter had always been an early 
riser. 

“ I can study better in the morning,” he 
often told his mother during his last year in 
high school. “ If I’ve work to do, I like to 
be through with it by noon.” 

When he became his uncle’s assistant he 
kept up this practice. Although the busi¬ 
ness-office force of a morning newspaper is 
not called upon to be at work very early, 
Joe was always at his desk by seven-thirty. 
Frequently he arrived earlier, in time to 
see the last papers of the city edition run 
off the presses and the delivery trucks and 
route boys on their way. 

“ I’m going to have a personal knowledge 
of every department,” he told his uncle; 

“ and I’m beginning to see that we must not 

50 


AN EMERGENCY ARISES 51 

only have a good newspaper, but that it 
must be properly circulated.” 

“ In a way, that is the biggest problem,” 
his uncle replied. “A man with even a 
small amount of money can make a paper, 
print a book, or manufacture a small 
amount of almost anything; but it’s a differ¬ 
ent matter to sell it. Learn the selling 
game, my boy.” 

Joe very soon came to realize that this 
was the truth. He felt that, even with his 
limited knowledge, he could get out quite a 
readable paper. But how would he go 
about selling it? 

Every morning the report of the previous 
day’s sales was laid on Joe’s desk. He soon 
found that the house-to-house deliveries, 
which were paid for monthly, varied little, 
but he was surprised to learn how large 
street sales were one day and how small 
another. As a result, he began to read the 
news more carefully. 

Of course, he could readily see that the 
sales would naturally be larger on the morn- 


52 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


ing after election, or after some other big 
event; but why should the street sales vary 
so when the daily happenings were not un¬ 
usual? 

In this connection he turned first to Rob¬ 
erts, the circulation manager, and asked how 
he accounted for it. 

“ There are three main factors that have 
to do with circulation,” Roberts explained: 
“ interesting news, well-written and dis¬ 
played, and properly offered for sale. No 
news, no sales goes without saying.” 

“ Sure,” laughed Joe. “ But what is 
news? You think a certain thing is news 
because you are interested in it. The man 
sitting next to you in the street car doesn’t 
even read that particular story.” 

“ There are some things that every one 
reads.” 

“ Of course, such as who has been elected 
President, or who created the new Pope. 
But that is told in the headlines. Lots of 
people never read more than the headlines 
of big news stories, while they will read half 


AN EMERGENCY ARISES 53 

a column about a school exhibition in which 
their boys or girls took part.” 

“ But school news doesn’t increase the 
street sales,” Roberts protested. 

“ I know it. But what does? Some 
mornings our street sales are large when the 
news is not startling.” 

“ I’ll tell you one thing,” said Roberts 
with a laugh, “ and that is, that when you 
can tell just why people buy papers you will 
be a great newspaper man.” 

“ Well,” was Joe’s reply, “ I can tell you 
something else. I’ll never be much of a 
newspaper man until I can.” 

Leaving Roberts, Joe sought Mr. Clark, 
the advertising manager. 

“ Mr. Clark,” he said, “ why is it that our 
advertising is so much heavier some days 
than others? ” 

“ Why, that’s the way we sell it,” was the 
laughing rejoinder. 

“ What do you mean? ” 

u We make special efforts on special days. 
You can induce a merchant to go the limit 


54 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


on a certain day, but he won’t keep it up all 
week. For instance, Friday is always a big 
day. Then there are special bargain days 
and any number of other reasons.” 

“ But why don’t we get some of the big 
ads one day, and some another? Why all 
the big ones on the same days? ” 

Mr. Clark laughed. 

“ People are like sheep,” he replied. 
“ They all want to jump over the bars at 
the same time.” 

“ Maybe that’s why the street sales of the 
paper are greater some days than others.” 

“ Certainly. Buying papers is just like 
buying anything else. Every one wants 
what every one else wants. The main thing 
is to get them started.” 

“ Now we’re back to the original ques¬ 
tion,” laughed Joe. “ How do we get them 
started? ” 

“ Why, advertise, of course,” replied 
Clark. 

“ But you can’t advertise what is to be in 
the morning paper. You don’t know. 


AN EMERGENCY ARISES 55 


Half the time the big news doesn’t break 
till late.” 

“ That’s why you have to get out a good 
paper all the time.” 

“ Well,” said Joe, “ that answers part of 
the circulation question, Mr. Clark, but it 
does not explain the variation.” 

The lad next took his problem to Red 
Barton. 

“ There isn’t any answer to the question,” 
was the city editor’s explanation, “ any more 
than there is as to why some people like 
grand opera and some like jazz. Both are 
popular, and will sell if well done. The 
whole secret of anything is to do it right.” 

“ But that doesn’t answer the question of 
what people read.” 

“ Not at all.” 

“ Nor what is news.” 

“ Of course not. You can’t describe 
news; you just feel it.” 

“That’s it!” Joe declared. “You have 
to feel it. And I know how it feels. Don’t 
you? ” 


56 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ I’ll tell the world I wouldn’t be city ed¬ 
itor of The Argus if I didn’t.” 

“ Father always said you were a born 
newspaper man.” 

Grant’s face grew red, and his hair took 
an upward turn. 

“ He might have said the same of you and 
not missed it much,” was his reply as he 
turned to his desk. 

Joe tingled at the compliment, and won¬ 
dered if it were really true. His chance for 
proving it, in a small way, came a few days 
later. 

For several weeks all the papers had been 
printing stories, some humorous and some 
otherwise, about a so-called haunted house, 
in which a ghost had done some unusual 
things. Various persons, newspaper re¬ 
porters and others, had attempted to solve 
the mystery, but without result. Some had 
even stayed in the house all night and heard 
nothing, while other investigators had been 
frightened away. 

One Monday morning Joe reached the 


AN EMERGENCY ARISES 57 


office unusually early. The press run on the 
city edition was almost at its end. Joe sat 
down at his desk to look over the paper. 
The telephone rang and he answered it. 

“ What is it? ” he asked. 

“ We’ve caught the ghost,” replied a 
voice over the wire. 44 It’s a ’coon—a ’coon 
and two young ones.” 

“Tell me about it,” instructed Joe. 

The other did so. A few questions con¬ 
vinced Joe of the identity of his informant, 
—a man he knew could be relied on to tell 
nothing but the truth,—and after he had 
learned all the details of the laying of the 
ghost, he thanked his caller and hung up the 
receiver. Then he took a sudden determi¬ 
nation. 

On the private office telephone he called 
Roberts, in the circulation room. 

“ Hold the street boys,” he ordered. 
“ I’m going to get out an extra.” 

“ What is it? ” asked Roberts. 

“ They’ve caught the ghost.” 

“What?” 



58 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ Sure; it’s a ’coon.” 

“ Pshaw! ” laughed Roberts. “ You 
aren’t going to get out an extra on catching 
a ’coon, are you? ” 

“Not on catching a ’coon—on catching 
a ghost. It’ll sell like hot cakes.” 

“ Not worth it,” declared Roberts. 

“ Maybe not,” said Joe, “ but I’m going 
to try it.” 

He called the press-room and instructed 
the foreman to make ready for an extra. 
Then he ran up-stairs to see if, by any 
chance, there was a printer about. 

Luck was with him. Two printers and 
several reporters were playing cards in the 
composing-room while waiting for the first 
car. Joe wasted no time in preliminaries. 

“ They’ve caught the ghost,” he said. 
“ I’m going to get out an extra.” 

“ Great stuff!” exclaimed one of the re¬ 
porters, but the others agreed with Roberts. 

“ All right,” said Joe to the reporter who 
agreed with him. “ I’ll give you the facts 
and you pound out three or four hundred 


AN EMERGENCY ARISES 59 


words as fast as you can. Ill write the 
headlines/’ 

The reporter hustled down-stairs to the 
city room, and soon was battering his old 
typewriter. Joe turned to one of the 
printers. 

“ Dud,” he said, “ open the first page and 
take out that Congress debate! Servoes, 
get your linotype in shape and be ready for 
the first ‘ take,’ [the first piece of copy that 
would soon come from the reporter]. First, 
Ill see whether there is any one in the 
stereotyping-room, and then Ill rush the 
copy myself.” 

There was no one in the stereotyping- 
room, but the metal was hot. Joe tele¬ 
phoned to Roberts: “ Send one of the boys 
over to Milligan’s and tell him to get here 
in a hurry.” 

Then he rushed down-stairs and jerked 
from the reporter’s typewriter the few 
paragraphs he had written, and hustled 
back to the composing-room with his ghost 
story. 


60 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Less than thirty minutes later the story 
was in the paper and on the street. 

The result confirmed Joe’s judgment. 
The papers did sell, literally, like hot cakes 
—for all Wolverton had been greatly in¬ 
terested in the mystery. 

The story was the news of the day. 

Simon Hunter was greatly pleased with 
Joe’s achievement, while Red Barton de¬ 
clared that, in future, he would take his 
orders from Joe. 

The only man on the paper who wasn’t 
pleased was Willoughby Black, the manag¬ 
ing editor. Pie was deeply offended that 
any one should have had the temerity to get 
out an extra without first consulting him. 

To tell the truth, Joe hadn’t even thought 
of that! 


CHAPTER Y 

GOOD BUSINESS 

The publisher of The Evening Star — 
the only afternoon paper in Wolverton— 
was Ebenezer Cady. 

Cady was a big man in all that the word 
implies. He was big in stature, he was big 
financially, and he was big because there was 
nothing mean or small about him. 

On his way down-town that morning he 
heard the newsboys calling “ Extra!” and 
immediately stopped his car and bought one. 

When he saw what the extra was about 
he laughed until the tears ran down his 
cheeks. He was still laughing when he 
reached his office. 

As was his custom, he went at once to the 
editorial rooms for a conference with his 
executives. Almost the first thing he heard 
was a voice ridiculing The Argus > ex tra. 

“I’ve seen some crazy extras in my time,” 

61 


62 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


the city editor was saying to the copy- 
readers, “ but this takes the prize. If I 
were old man Hunter, I’d fire the man re¬ 
sponsible for it.” 

The smile on Mr. Cady’s face gave way 
to a frown. 

“What was that I heard you say?” he 
asked as he approached the city desk. 

“ I was talking about The Argus, sir. 
Did you see that extra? ” 

“ Yes. What about it? ” 

“ Why, the foolish idea. I was just say¬ 
ing that if I were Simon Hunter, I’d fire 
the man responsible for it.” 

“ Oh, you would? ” 

“ Yes, sir. Wouldn’t you? ” 

“ No, Mr. Simmons, I wouldn’t. In fact, 
if I can get the man responsible for that 
extra to accept the position, I expect to 
make him city editor of The Star” 

Simmons’ face fell and he regarded his 
employer in astonishment. 

“ I—I—I don’t understand,” he stam¬ 
mered. 


GOOD BUSINESS 


63 


“So I see,” was Mr. Cady’s rejoinder. 
“ I’ll make myself plain. The man who is 
responsible for that extra is a real news¬ 
paper man. He knows what people want to 
read. Every man you see has one of those 
extras and is tickled to death with it. I’ll 
wager they sold five thousand of them. 
That’s why I am going to hire the man re¬ 
sponsible for it, if I can.” 

He turned on his heel to go, but paused 
to say: “ The only thing we can do now is 
make a real feature out of this ghost story 
and try to share the glory with The Argus, 
even at this late hour.” 

Simmons spent a bad half-hour worrying 
over the possibility of losing his position. 
Then a reporter came in with the informa¬ 
tion that Joe Hunter was responsible for 
The Argus extra. 

“Oh, that kid!” was Simmons’ slurring 
remark; but he was greatly relieved, for he 
knew there was not the slightest possibility 
that Mr. Cady could coax Joe away from 
his own paper. 


64 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


When Mr. Cady learned the facts he was 
big enough to be pleased. 

He had known Joe Hunter since the day 
he was born. Although, before the death 
of Joe’s father, the two had been business 
competitors, they had been old friends. 
Due to his connection with the Wolverton 
National Bank and the Hoosier Trust Com¬ 
pany, Mr. Cady knew the financial condi¬ 
tion of The Argus . He also knew, of 
course, that Joe had entered the business. 

“ Good for Joe!” was his first thought, 
and he immediately called him on the tele¬ 
phone. 

“ Why, good-morning, Mr. Cady,” said 
Joe, considerably surprised at such an early 
call. “ How are you, sir? ” 

“ Fine, Joe, fine! Not looking for a job, 
are you? ” 

“ Not to-day,” laughed Joe. “ I’ve all I 
can attend to right now. Why? ” 

“ I’ve promised to make you city editor 
of The Star, if you’ll take the job.” 

“ What’s the joke, sir? ” laughed Joe. 


GOOD BUSINESS 


65 


Then Mr. Cady explained. 

“ Of course,” he added, “ I knew you 
wouldn’t take the place, but I certainly 
want to compliment you on your first extra. 
It was fine. Hattie’ll laugh herself sick 
when I tell her.” 

Hattie was Mr. Cady’s youngest daugh¬ 
ter, and had any one happened to be looking 
at Joe when he heard Mr. Cady’s words, he 
would have seen the lad’s face turn decid¬ 
edly pink. 

A moment later came Mr. Cady’s “ Well, 
good-bye. Come up and see us when you 
have time, and remember me to your 
mother.” 

Joe replaced the receiver and turned back 
to his desk with considerable elation. 

“ Isn’t that just like Mr. Cady? ” he 
thought. “ I wonder how he’d take it if 
we were to start an afternoon paper? ” 

He put the question to his uncle later in 
the day when he recounted his conversation 
with Mr. Cady. 

“ He’d probably take it as a straight busi- 


66 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


ness proposition, and make it as warm for 
us as he could,” was Mr. Hunter’s reply. 
“ Yes, I think he’d be one of the chief fac¬ 
tors in helping us lose our money.” 

Joe smiled. 

“You look upon that as a foregone con¬ 
clusion, don’t you, Uncle? ” 

“ I certainly do. The only doubt I ever 
had about it was the way this morning’s ex¬ 
tra sold. I don’t understand it.” 

“ I see you don’t; but Mr. Cady did,” was 
Joe’s response. 

So did Red Barton. 

“You stole a march on me, Joe,” was his 
rueful comment when he reached the office 
that afternoon. “ But I don’t care. It just 
proves that if you and I ever get a chance, 
we will show this town something.” 

“ I’m afraid we never shall, Red,—at 
least, not until we are old men. We’ll just 
have to try to improve the morning edition.” 

And to that end both worked harder than 
ever. 

At the end of Joe’s second month he 



GOOD BUSINESS 


67 


made a discovery that caused him to do some 
hard thinking. 

While the second month had been one 
day shorter than the first, the expenses of 
the paper were several thousand dollars 
greater. 

Joe looked back over the records of the 
previous year. He discovered that every 
once in a while the expenses of the compos¬ 
ing-room were greater by several hundred 
dollars than they had been the week before, 
although the same number of men were on 
the pay-roll, the same wages were paid, and 
the size of the paper was the same. It 
seemed unreasonable. 

“ I wonder why,” he asked his uncle. 

“ Waste time and waste type,” was Mr. 
Hunter’s reply. 

“ Why should that be? ” 

“You can’t always tell just how much 
type you are going to need to fill the paper. 
Sometimes we expect big advertisements 
that we don’t get, and in that case we must 
have enough type to fill.” 


68 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“Aren’t our ads always in by seven 
o’clock in the evening? ” 

Uncle Simon shook his head. 

“ They should be, Joe,” he replied, “ but 
sometimes the solicitors don’t get around 
that early.” 

“ Why not? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ Then I’m going to find out,” was Joe’s 
reply. “ If the ads were all in by seven 
o’clock, we would be able to tell just how 
many columns of space we were going to 
have for news matter. Isn’t that so, sir? ” 

“ That’s the theory of it, Joe, but it 
doesn’t seem to work out in practice.” 

“No,” Joe agreed, “ and I think I know 
why. For some time I’ve been going to ask 
you about Mr. Black. I don’t believe he 
attends to business. He has altogether too 
many affairs of his own.” 

“ Most employees have,” was Mr. 
Hunter’s reply. 

“ I know one who hasn’t, Uncle Simon, 
and that’s Red Barton. He gives every bit 


GOOD BUSINESS 


69 


of his time to the paper. But that has noth¬ 
ing to do with the other matter. We must 
find some way to stop this waste of time 
and type.” 

“All right, Joe,” was his uncle’s laughing 
rejoinder. “ It’s up to you. Find the 
proper thing to do, and I’ll see it’s done.” 

That was all Joe wanted. For the next 
ten days he made it a point to be in the of¬ 
fice every evening from six to eight o’clock. 

First he noted the hour the solicitors came 
in with the advertisements. There were 
only four of them, and it was easy to check 
up. He soon found that the only trouble 
was occasioned by a solicitor named Frey. 

Joe spoke to the advertising manager. 

“ Can’t you induce Frey to get his copy 
in* by seven o’clock? ” he asked. 

“Afraid not,” was Mr. Clark’s reply. 
“ He’s just naturally slow, but he’s a first- 
class solicitor.” 

“ Maybe,” replied Joe, “ but we are los¬ 
ing more time on his account than is iustifi- 
able.” 


70 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ I’ll speak to him, Joe.” 

Probably he did, but there was no im¬ 
provement. Joe took the matter up with 
his uncle. 

“Well, what do you want me to do?” 
asked Mr. Hunter. 

“ Tell him that if he can’t get his copy in 
by seven o’clock, we’ll have to find a man 
who can.” 

Uncle Simon lifted his eyebrows. 

“ Why, we can’t do that, Joe,” he said. 
“ He’s the best man we’ve got.” 

“ I don’t know about that, Uncle Simon; 
but I’m sure we can’t afford to keep him un¬ 
less he pulls with us. It’s team-work that 
counts.” 

Simon Hunter scratched his chin, but he 
replied: “All right, Joe. I’ll tell him.” 

One touch of the spur was all Frey 
needed. He sulked for a day or two and 
even looked around for another job. Then 
lie woke up. He was really a good man, 
and within a few days was doing what was 
asked of him. 


GOOD BUSINESS 71 

Then Joe took up the other end of the 
matter. 

When the managing editor reached his 
desk the following Monday evening he 
found a slip of paper addressed to him. It 
gave the total number of columns in the 
morning’s edition that would be filled with 
advertising, and the amount of space that 
would be available for news. Underneath 
this was written: “ Please keep the overset 
down to the minimum.” 

The slip was signed by Joe as assistant 
manager. 

After reading it, Mr. Black smiled con¬ 
temptuously and threw it on the floor. 

“ Fresh kid! ” was his only comment. 

He did not communicate the information 
to any of the men who were handling the 
news, and as a result the paper was overset 
that night by more than twelve columns— 
which means that more than twelve columns 
of news and editorial matter were put into 
type that could not be used. 

Joe learned the facts the next day when 


72 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

he asked the foreman of the composing-room 
for the figures. 

The same thing happened the next night, 
and again the next. 

Then Joe started on a still hunt. It took 
him a very few minutes to learn that Mr. 
Black had entirely disregarded his instruc¬ 
tions. 

“ How much salary are we paying Mr. 
Black? ” he asked his uncle the next day. 

“A hundred dollars a week,” was Mr. 
Hunter’s reply. “ But you know it as well 
as I do. Why?” 

“ Do you think that’s a good salary, 
Uncle? ” 

“ In this town, yes. Don’t you? ” 

“ It’s too much for Mr. Black; but, as a 
matter of fact, we are paying him consider¬ 
ably more.” 

“What do you mean?” demanded Mr. 
Hunter, peering at his nephew over the rims 
of his spectacles. 

“ We’ve been overset almost forty col¬ 
umns in the last three nights.” 


GOOD BUSINESS 


73 


“So I have noticed from the reports. 
But it has been worse.” 

“ It needn’t have been a fourth of that.” 

“ It needn’t, eh? Why not? ” 

“ Because if Mr. Black had made use of 
the information I furnished him, the overset 
could have been cut away down,” and he 
told Mr. Hunter what he had done. 

“ Well,” said his uncle grimly, “ what’s 
to be done? ” 

“ Tell Mr. Black the same thing you did 
Frey. Why let him waste this money? No 
wonder I can’t go to college! ” 

Simon Hunter leaned back in his chair. 

“I’ll have to think about it,” he said 
finally. “ We have a contract with Black. 
I don’t know that this constitutes a violation, 
but I’ll speak to him about it.” 

“All right, sir,” said Joe. “ In the mean¬ 
time I’ll talk to Red and give him the infor¬ 
mation about the space every night. That 
will help some.” 

Both Joe and his uncle kept their words. 

The result saved the paper a good many 


74 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


dollars a month, but made an enemy for 
Joe, because Black was furious. Not so 
furious, however, that he was willing to re¬ 
sign his position. 


CHAPTER VI 


RIGHT AND WRONG 

A few days after the trouble with Mr. 
Black, Uncle Simon departed for the State 
capital to attend a meeting of the publish¬ 
ers’ association. This left Joe virtually in 
charge of the paper, although he was not ex¬ 
pected to have any special duties other than 
his own. 

It should be mentioned here that, because 
The Argus was not a big paper, Wil¬ 
loughby Black was acting in the capacity of 
editor-in-chief and managing editor, al¬ 
though in all matters pertaining to the pol¬ 
icy of the paper he was governed by Simon 
Hunter. 

A city election was now at hand. 

The Argus had always been a Democratic 
paper, but nevertheless had invariably sup¬ 
ported the best man when it came to city 
elections. 


75 


76 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Mr. Hunter had expected to return from 
the publishers’ convention in time for the 
primary election, but he was detained. At 
the primary the unexpected happened, and 
the Democrats nominated for mayor a man 
whose record was far from enviable. The 
Republican nominee, on the other hand, was 
one of the leading attorneys of Wolverton. 

The morning following the primary The 
Argus came out with an editorial in support 
of the Democratic nominee, Hufnagel. 

When Joe saw the editorial he was so sur¬ 
prised that for a moment he could not speak. 
When he did, he voiced his displeasure in 
such a manner that his mother, who sat 
across from him at the breakfast table, 
asked what had happened. 

“ Why,” exclaimed Joe, “ Black has had 
the nerve to come out in support of Huf¬ 
nagel! It’s an outrage!” 

Mrs. Hunter agreed with her son. 

“ I wonder what made him do it? ” she 
asked. 

“ Hufnagel is a particular friend of his,” 


RIGHT AND WRONG 


77 


was Joe’s reply. “ They’ve been thicker 
than two thieves for some time; but who 
would have ever thought of Hufnagel being 
nominated, in the first place? ” 

He paused until he had finished reading 
the editorial. 

“ I see the whole thing,” he said then. 
“ Hufnagel was nominated because Black 
had promised him the support of The 
Argus” 

“ Why, Joe, how can you say such a 
thing? ” exclaimed his mother. “ I don’t 
believe Mr. Black is that kind of a man.” 

“ I haven’t been sure until now, Mother. 
But how can I think anything else? He 
had it all figured out. That’s why he didn’t 
wait for Uncle Simon to come back before 
endorsing Hufnagel. He thinks that be¬ 
cause The Argus came out for him this 
morning we’ll have to stick to him; but he’ll 
find different.” 

“It would ruin the paper!” exclaimed 
Mrs. Hunter. 

Joe nodded. 


78 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ Between you and me, Mother,” he said, 
“ I believe that is just what he is trying to 
do.” 

“ Joe!” 

“ Well, that’s the way it looks. He’s been 
making trouble ever since Uncle Simon took 
me in the office. If it wasn’t that Uncle 
Simon stood right back of me, Black 
wouldn’t pay any attention to anything I 
said.” 

“ What do you suppose he’ll say about 
this? ” 

“ He’ll probably tell me it’s none of my 
business; that, in Uncle Simon’s absence, 
he is in charge of the editorial end of the 
paper, and that he has come out for Huf- 
nagel because he is the regular party nom- 
mee. 

“ But he knows your father was always 
for the best man.” 

“ Of course he does; but he’ll pretend dif¬ 
ferently. He’ll say he did what he consid¬ 
ered his duty. Oh, he’s a slick one, I tell 
you.” 


RIGHT AND WRONG 


79 


Mrs. Hunter shook her head. 

“ I suppose we shall have to make a 
change,” she said. 

“ I know we shall,” declared Joe, “ but 
just how I can’t say. He has a three-year 
contract, and it has some time to run yet.” 

“ Yes, I know,” his mother agreed, “ but 
if it isn’t right that he should be in charge, 
I am sure something will remove him.” 

“ What do you think I had better do 
about this editorial? ” 

“ I do not believe I should do anything. 
Your Uncle Simon will be home this after¬ 
noon, or to-morrow, and I would let it rest 
until then.” 

“ But suppose Uncle Simon doesn’t re¬ 
turn to-day, and Black should have another 
boost for Hufnagel to-morrow? ” 

“ I don’t think he will.” 

Joe made no reply, but under his breath 
he muttered, “ I’ll bet he won’t; not if I can 
prevent it.” 

Several times during the day friends of 
the Hunter family, and of The Argus, 


80 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


called up and asked for Simon Hunter. 
Joe gave orders that all such calls should be 
switched on to his telephone. Nearly all* 
these callers expressed surprise at the Huf- 
nagel editorial, and to each one Joe ex¬ 
plained that his uncle was away, but that 
there would be an explanation when he re¬ 
turned. 

Joe said nothing to any one in the office 
except Grant Barton. 

“ Be sure to let me know if Hufnagel 
calls on Black to-day,” he told the city ed¬ 
itor. “Also what instructions he gives about 
the campaign.” 

“ What are you going to do? ” asked Red. 

“Not anything until Uncle Simon re¬ 
turns, unless Black does something first.” 

Shortly after four o’clock Barton 
dropped into Joe’s office. 

“ Hufnagel was closeted with Black for 
nearly an hour,” he said. 

“Any instructions to you?” 

“No; he hasn’t even mentioned the elec¬ 
tion.” 


RIGHT AND WRONG 81 

“All right, Red. I’ll be on the job to¬ 
night.” 

Just before he went home to dinner that 
evening, Joe called Andy McHugh, fore¬ 
man of the composing-room, to his office. 

“ Hold the editorial page to-night until 
either Uncle Simon or I have a chance to see 
it,” he ordered. 

Andy grinned. 

“ I see,” he replied. “ When do you ex¬ 
pect your uncle? ” 

“ I think he’ll be home on the ten-thirty, 
but if he isn’t, I’ll be here by midnight.” 

“All right, Joe. I hear the Hufnagel 
crowd is pretty happy over the editorial we 
ran this morning.” 

“ So I imagine,” was Joe’s grim response. 

After dinner Joe threw himself on the 
bed for a nap, telling his mother to have 
him called before eleven. 

“ If Uncle Simon comes, he’ll be here by 
that hour,” he said. “ If not, I’ll go down 
to the office and see what’s doing. I’m 
anxious to know.” 


82 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


At eleven o’clock Mr. Hunter had not 
returned, and Joe followed his plan. At 
the office he went straight to the composing- 
room. 

Andy McHugh grinned as he entered, 
and jerked his thumb over his shoulder to 
where the editorial-page form stood, ready 
to be stereotyped. 

Joe crossed the room and glanced at the 
type in the page. 

As he expected, there was a second edi¬ 
torial urging the election of Hufnagel. 

“ Get me the proof on this editorial, will 
you, Andy? ” said Joe. 

The foreman called the galley boy, who 
brought a proof a few minutes later. Joe 
read it over carefully. 

“ Well? ” inquired Andy. 

“ Lift it out,” Joe ordered. 

The foreman obeyed. 

“ You’ve got plenty of nerve, Joe,” he 
said, “ but you’ll have an awful row with 
Black.” 

“ Oh, I guess not. Plug it up with some 


RIGHT AND WRONG 


83 


short stuff, Andy, but leave me five or six 
lines. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

Going to his own desk he wrote the fol¬ 
lowing paragraph: 

“So much criticism has reached this of¬ 
fice concerning the candidacy of Herman 
Hufnagel that The Argus has determined 
to make a thorough investigation of Mr. 
Hufnagel’s record. The Argus will refrain 
from comment, and will leave it to the 
voters to make their own decision in accord¬ 
ance with the facts, whatever they may 
prove to be.” 

This he showed to Grant Barton, and 
at the same time gave him the gist of the 
telephone criticisms he had received that 
day, with instructions to get half a column 
of them in type for the city edition. 

Joe stayed around until the paper was 
out. Then he went home to bed. 

If Joe’s ghost-story extra had created a 
ripple, his Hufnagel editorial caused a tidal 


wave. 


84 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Black was not yet out of bed when Huf- 
nagel called him on the telephone. It is 
not necessary to repeat what he said, but 
whatever it was, it was enough to send 
Black hurrying to The Argus office. 

With a face as black as his name he 
rushed into Joe’s office. But Joe was not 
there. 

Failing to find Joe, he stormed into the 
editorial-room. Padman, the exchange ed¬ 
itor, was the only man there. 

“ Do you know anything about this? ” de¬ 
manded Black, sticking the editorial under 
the exchange editor’s nose. 

“ No, I don’t,” replied the other. “ I 
supposed you wrote it yourself.” 

Down-stairs rushed Black, just in time to 
meet Simon Hunter coming in from the 
train with his hand-bag. 

Trembling with rage, the managing ed¬ 
itor shook the paper under Mr. Hunter’s 
nose. 

“ Who wrote this? ” he cried. “ I say, 
who wrote this? ” 


RIGHT AND WRONG 85 

“ Who wrote what? ” asked Mr. Hunter 
in surprise. 

He had slept late that morning, and had 
not left his berth in time to read the paper 
before leaving the train. 

“ This about Hufnagel,” explained 
Black. 

“ I haven’t seen this morning’s paper,” 
replied Simon Hunter, coldly, “ but I saw 
yesterday’s.” Then, as he continued on his 
way to his private office: “ Come in, Mr. 
Black. We’ll talk this matter over.” 

Seating himself at his desk, Mr. Hunter 
took the paper from Black’s hand and 
slowly read the short editorial that Joe had 
written. 

“ Well,” he said, regarding Black sternly, 
“ what’s the matter with it? If you didn’t 
write it, I want to compliment the man who 
did!” 

“What!” shouted Black. “Would you 
turn on Hufnagel after we have agreed to 
support him? ” 

Simon Hunter rubbed his chin. 


86 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ I didn’t know we had agreed to any 
such thing,” he said. 

“ Well, we have. I wrote that editorial 
yesterday in support of his candidacy. Now 
we have repudiated it.” 

“ Oh, I don’t think so,” was Mr. Hunter’s 
calm reply. “We have simply said we 
would let his record speak for itself. He 
couldn’t expect us to do any more than 
that, could he? ” 

“ Certainly he could. He could expect 
encouragement.” 

Mr. Hunter smiled grimly. 

“And you don’t think his record will give 
him that? ” 

“ You know it won’t.” 

“ Then,” asked Mr. Hunter sternly as he 
got to his feet, “ why did you agree to sup¬ 
port him? ” 

“ Yes,” said Joe, who had entered the 
office in time to hear his uncle’s last words, 
“ why did you agree to support him? ” 

Without answering the question Black 
turned on Joe. 


RIGHT AND WRONG 


87 


“You!” he fairly screamed. “ You— 

you little—you little- Bah! I refuse 

to talk with upstarts! ” 

He strode angrily from the room. 


/ 


/ 



CHAPTER VII 


THE BATTLE BEGINS 

For a moment after Black rushed from 
the office Joe and his uncle looked at each 
other in astonishment. Then both laughed. 

44 Seems to be a little peeved,” remarked 
Joe finally. 

“ Just a little,” Mr. Hunter agreed. 
44 But tell me, Joe, who wrote that editorial 
paragraph? ” 

“ I did, sir.” 

“What! You did?” 

44 Why, yes, sir,” replied Joe a bit dis¬ 
turbed. 44 Wasn’t it all right? ” 

44 All right? Joe, it’s the best thing you 
could have done, and it lets us out of what 
looked like a bad fix.” 

Joe’s face flushed with pleasure. 

44 It isn’t always easy to know what to do 

in a case like this,” his uncle continued. 

88 


THE BATTLE BEGINS 89 

“ Having endorsed a candidate, it looks bad 
to come out against him; but we certainly 
have a right to demand that he stand upon 
his record. I’m proud of you, nephew.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” was Joe’s modest re- 

ply- 

“And now,” said Mr. Hunter, “ sit down 
and tell me all about it.” 

Joe did so, after which he continued: 

“ Red Barton knows Hufnagel’s record 
from the time he first opened a saloon down 
in the second ward. He’ll write it in chap¬ 
ters—one a day—for the next ten days.” 

“Excellent! I don’t think I shall have 
any fear about leaving the paper in your 
charge after this. You are certainly prov¬ 
ing yourself a natural-born newspaper 
man.” 

“ What do you think Black will do 
now? ” asked Joe. 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“ Do you think he’ll resign? ” 

“ I’m afraid not. After this it would be 
hard for him to get a place on either of the 


90 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


other local papers. I imagine he’ll hang on 
and sulk. 

But Mr. Hunter was wrong to the extent 
that Black did not sulk. Instead, he ap¬ 
proached Mr. Hunter later in the day and 
offered a lame excuse, based on the ground 
that Hufnagel was the regular party nom¬ 
inee, and that he had supposed, of course, 
The Argus would support him. 

Then he entered into what was intended 
to be a hearty endorsement of the plan to 
publish Hufnagel’s record. 

In order to give Red Barton time to write 
the stories, he was relieved of his duties as 
city editor, and his assistant was put in 
charge of the desk. 

“ That will give you plenty of time to 
verify some of the things that may have 
become dim in your memory,” Mr. Black 
explained. 

“ Very good,” was Barton’s only reply, 
but to Joe he said: “ I don’t like the idea, 
at all.” 

“ Why not? ” 


THE BATTLE BEGINS 


91 


“ I know Black too well. He’s got some¬ 
thing up his sleeve.” 

“ What do you suppose it can be? ” 

“ I haven’t the slightest idea; but with 
Wirth on the city desk Black will handle 
the other end of the campaign to suit him¬ 
self.” 

“ I’ll keep an eye on things,” said Joe, 
and with that Barton had to be content. 

The next morning’s edition of The Argus 
was far from a model newspaper. 

Displayed on the front page was the first 
chapter of Hufnagel’s record under the sig¬ 
nature of Grant Barton. It was a veritable 
surprise. It started with Hufnagel’s entry 
into the business world, and contained more 
in his favor than against it. 

Also on the first page was an account of 
the first public meeting, at which a big 
crowd had gone to hear Hufnagel speak. 

But on the editorial page Black had man¬ 
aged to slip in a short paragraph that was 
clearly intended as a slap at Hufnagel, and 
placed The Argus in the position of having 


92 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

ignored the statement by Joe the previous 
day. 

For this Mr. Black had an explanation. 
His meaning, he declared, had been mis¬ 
understood. The paragraph had been so 
written that a double meaning was possible, 
and Black insisted that he had been mis¬ 
judged. 

Then Simon Hunter gave a positive 
order that Hufnagel’s name should not be 
mentioned on the editorial page. 

The following day Red Barton’s article 
was written in the same style—both the 
good and bad features of HufnageFs life 
being shown—but this time the evil was 
much the greater. 

The third and fourth days the same plan 
was followed, and as Barton progressed 
with his story the comparison became more 
and more damaging. 

The Hufnagel history became the talk of 
the town. Friends of Hufnagel called up 
Simon Hunter and asked him to stop it. 
He refused. 


THE BATTLE BEGINS 93 


Hufnagel’s attorney threatened to sue 
The Argus for libel. 

“ Sue and be hanged/’ was Mr. Hunter’s 
reply. “We have printed nothing we can’t 
prove, and I wouldn’t like anything better 
than to be sued.” 

“ The only thing I am afraid of,” said 
Joe after the lawyer had gone, “ is that we 
may lose Red.” 

“ Why? ” asked his uncle. 

“ Every one says his articles show he is 
too good for Wolverton. I am expecting 
every day he will get an offer to go to Chi¬ 
cago.” 

Simon Hunter looked serious. 

“ I shouldn’t be surprised, either,” he de¬ 
clared. “ For his sake I wish it might be, 
although I should hate to lose him. I’m 
surprised the Hufnagel crowd hasn’t tried 
to buy him off before now.” 

“ They know that couldn’t be done,” said 
Joe. 

“ Yes, that’s been tried before. Red is 
absolutely loyal.” 


94 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


To Barton himself Joe said: “ You never 
ought to be a city editor.” 

“ Why not? ” 

“ Because you write too well. If The 
Argus ever sends a special correspondent to 
Washington, you’ll be the man.” 

The following night Barton failed to ap¬ 
pear at the office. He had been turning in 
his copy to Mr. Hunter every night before 
six o’clock, so it could be passed upon before 
he went home. 

But seven o’clock came this night, and he 
had not reached The Argus. 

“ Better call him up, he may be ill,” Mr. 
Hunter told Joe. 

Joe rang up the number, but received no 
answer. They waited another half-hour 
and then Joe became uneasy. 

“ I’ll take the car and drive out to his 
house,” he said. “You go home to dinner 
and I’ll bring him there.” 

Joe’s ring at the bell was answered by the 
woman who conducted the rooming-house, 
where Grant made his home. 


THE BATTLE BEGINS 95 


“ Go right up to his room,” she said. “ I 
think he must be there.” 

Joe did so, but the room was empty. 

“ Haven’t you seen him to-day? ” Joe 
asked the landlady. 

“No. He doesn’t usually get up until 
noon, and I’ve been out all afternoon. I 
haven’t even made up his bed.” 

“ Somebody made it up,” said Joe. 

The landlady called the maid. 

“ Did you make up Mr. Barton’s room? ” 
she asked. 

The maid replied that she had not. 

“ Then,” said Joe, “ the bed hasn’t been 
slept in at all.” 

“Impossible!” exclaimed the landlady. 
“ Mr. Barton is always in. He has not 
stayed out a single night since he has been 
living here, and that is almost a year.” 

“All of which means that something has 
happened to him,” Joe told himself. Aloud 
he said: “ He may have been taken ill and 
gone to the hospital. I’ll drive there.” 

But Barton was not at the hospital, nor 


96 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


had the police any report of him. The last 
seen of him was at the restaurant where he 
usually ate. 

“And that means,” said Joe, in talking 
the matter over later with his uncle and Mr. 
Black, “ that there will be no Hufnagel 
story in the morning.” 

“ True,” replied Mr. Black. “ That’s 
bad; very bad.” 

His words were spoken as though in re¬ 
gret, but as Joe looked at the man he caught 
a gleam of triumph in his eye that did not at 
all agree with his words. 

The truth dawned upon the lad like a 
flash. Barton had been trapped, and Black 
knew what had happened. For a few 
minutes Joe was silent. Then he said: 
“ Well, I believe the announcement that 
Barton has disappeared, leaving no trace, 
will be just as good a story, Uncle Simon. 
Whether we can prove it or not, every one 
will say the Hufnagel crowd must be re¬ 
sponsible.” 

Mr. Hunter nodded. 


THE BATTLE BEGINS 97 


“ Right you are, my boy,” he said. “And 
I believe we shall be able to prove it.” 

“ That may be a difficult task,” Mr. 
Black suggested. 

“ Probably,” Mr. Hunter agreed. “ But 
murder will out.” 

The conference ended, and Mr. Black re¬ 
turned to his own office. 

“ It’s a sure-enough plot, Uncle Simon,” 
Joe said, as soon as the managing editor was 
out of hearing. “ This is what Red was 
afraid of, too. I’m willing to bet that Black 
knows where he is.” 

“ I’m afraid you’re right, Joe,” said 
Simon Hunter. 

“ I know I’m right; and wherever Red is, 
I’m going to make it my business to find 
him!” 


CHAPTER VIII 


FOUL PLAY 

What had happened to Red Barton was 
this: When he left the office of The Argus 
about two o’clock the morning after his fifth 
installment of the record of Herman Huf- 
nagel, he went, as was his custom, to the 
Far East restaurant for something to eat 
before going home. 

There were few others in the restaurant 

at the time. Barton looked over the earlv 

•/ 

edition of the paper, read what he had writ¬ 
ten concerning Hufnagel, and grinned. 

“ This will curl his hair,” he told himself. 
“And it’s all true, too. A nice man for The 
Argus to support, I don’t think.” 

A chair was pulled back at his table and 
Barton looked up. 

“ Oh, hello, Black,” he said, recognizing 
the managing editor of The Argus. 
“ Thought you had gone home long ago.” 

98 


FOUL PLAY 99 

“ No/’ replied Black. “ I waited to have 
a few words with you.” 

He was silent while a Chinese waiter put 
Barton’s order on the table. When the 
waiter had gone he said: “ Look here, Bar¬ 
ton, I can’t say I like the way you and 
young Hunter are going over my head in 
this Hufnagel business.” 

“ I didn’t suppose you would,” answered 
Red, his mouth full of food. “ But you 
know as well as I do, Black, that you had 
no business coming out in support of Huf¬ 
nagel in the first place. Why, the man’s a 
criminal. You know that.” 

“I’m not admitting I know anything of 
the sort,” was the managing editor’s re¬ 
sponse. “ But put that aside. What if he 
is? He’s no different from a lot of other 
politicians. They’re all in the game for the 
same reason.” 

Barton did not reply, though Black 
paused for him to do so. 

“ Tell you what, Red,” said Black fa¬ 
miliarly a few moments later, leaning back 


100 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


in his chair, “ let’s you and I get together 
in this thing. We can soon put young 
Hunter on the wrong side of the fence. 
Then we can go ahead and support Huf- 
nagel.” 

“ You seem to forget what we have al¬ 
ready said about him,” replied Barton with 
a grin. 

' “ No, I don’t. I’ve figured out a plan 
that will let us out there. What do you 
say? ” 

Red considered quickly. Here, he told 
himself, was a chance to learn something, 
providing he played his cards right. He 
was silent so long that Black continued: 
“ You’re young, Barton. You’ll need 
money as you grow older. Perhaps this is 
your chance to get it.” 

“ Just what do you mean, Black? ” asked 
Red, apparently interested. 

“Just this: I have Hufnagel’s instruc¬ 
tions to go as far as I like financially. I am 
authorized to offer you a good round sum if 
we can put this thing across.” 



FOUL PLAY 


101 


Again Red appeared to consider the 
proposition with some favor. 

“ It would be playing it rather low down 
on young Hunter,” he said at last. 

“ What do you care? You don’t owe him 
anything. Besides, you have your own in¬ 
terests to look out for.” 

“ Very true. But how do I know that 
Hufnagel will stick to his word? This 
might be a trick, you know.” 

Black’s face darkened. 

“ My word is good,” he said. 

“ Perhaps. But I have no great faith in 
your ability to pay. I know something of 
your financial condition, Black.” 

Black was silent for several minutes be¬ 
fore he replied, “You at least have confi¬ 
dence in Hufnagel’s ability to pay? ” 

“Yes, if he wants to.” 

“ Then, if he makes this proposition to 
you, will you consider it? ” 

Once more Red was silent momentarily. 
Then he said, “ Yes, I’ll consider it,” and 
even Black failed to notice the emphasis the 


102 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


young city editor of The Argus placed on 
the third word. 

“ One moment,” said Black. 

He stepped into a near-by telephone 
booth, from which he emerged presently 
with a broad smile on his face. 

“ It’s late, I know,” he said, “ but in view 
of the importance Hufnagel attaches to this 
matter he is willing to see you now.” 

Barton drained his coffee cup. 

“ Then let’s go,” he replied. 

“ It’s too far to walk,” said Black. “ I’ll 
call a taxi.” 

Again he stepped into the telephone 
booth. 

Five minutes later a machine drew up in 
front of the restaurant. Red paid his check 
and followed Black outside. They climbed 
into the taxi. 

A drive of ten minutes took them to Huf- 
nagel’s home. There was a light in the hall, 
which told Barton that Hufnagel was 
awaiting their arrival. 

Hufnagel himself opened the door and 


FOUL PLAY 


103 


ushered them into a living-room half-way 
down the hall. There Black introduced the 
two. 

Hufnagel extended a hand which Red 
professed not to see. They sat down. 

Black spoke first. 

“ I’ve been going over this matter with 
Barton,” he said to Hufnagel, “ and I be¬ 
lieve he is open to conviction.” 

Hufnagel rubbed his hands. 

“ That is good! ” he exclaimed. “ I just 
want to say, Mr. Barton, that whatever Mr. 
Black may have offered you in my name I 
stand ready to pay—providing these at¬ 
tacks on me in The Argus cease. I have no 
doubt you can fix that? ” 

“ Yes, I suppose I can fix it,” Red 
agreed. 

“ Good! Then in that event I am willing 

to pay-” and Hufnagel lowered his 

voice and named a sum. 

Barton could not repress a start at the 
size of the figure, but he made no immediate 
reply. 



104 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ I'll tell you, Mr. Hufnagel,” he said at 
last, “ this is rather a big thing to me. I 
can’t decide on the minute. Suppose I let 
you know, say, before six o’clock to¬ 
morrow? ” 

Hufnagel and Black were plainly non¬ 
plussed. Apparently it had been the hope 
of both to get Red’s answer at once. 

“ Why,” said Hufnagel at last, “ I guess 
that will be all right. What do you say, 
Black? ” 

But Black was on his feet, and his face 
was as dark as his name. 

“ I say no! ” he exclaimed. “ Hufnagel, 
this young upstart has tricked us! He has 
no intention of falling in with our plans! ” 

“ I don’t know why you should say that! ” 
cried Red, also springing to his feet and 
putting himself on the defensive. “ It’s a 
mighty big thing to decide in a minute.” 

“ The young man is right,” declared 
Hufnagel, placatingly. “ Give him until 
to-morrow. One day won’t make any dif¬ 
ference.” 


FOUL PLAY 


105 


“ You’re wrong!” insisted Black. “I’d 
never allow him to leave this house, now 
that we’ve made this proposition.” 

Hufnagel shrugged his shoulders. 

“ You’re too thin-skinned,” he said. 
“ He can’t say anything worse than he has. 
Anyhow, I believe he’d like the money. 
Wouldn’t you? ” and he turned to Barton. 

“ Sure I would,” declared Red. 

“All right then. Put on your hat and be 
on your way; but we must have your answer 
before noon.” 

Red left the house with considerable ela¬ 
tion. 

“ I’ve got a story now, and yet I haven’t,” 
he told himself. “ Mr. Hunter will believe 
me, of course, but I should have corrobora¬ 
tive testimony.” 

He stopped on the next corner and 
looked up and down for a taxi, but there 
was none in sight. 

“ Guess I’ll have to hoof it,” he muttered, 
“ and it’s a good two miles.” 

He started off at a brisk walk. He had 


106 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


proceeded possibly a block when he saw a 
taxi turn on to his street a block away and 
move in his direction. 

“ Hope it’s empty,” he thought, and 
slackened his pace. 

The taxi was empty, and the driver was 
peering ahead, as though in the hope of 
picking up a late fare. He slowed down as 
he came abreast of Barton. 

“ Taxi, sir? ” he called. 

“ Sure,” replied Red and climbed in. 

“ Where to, sir? ” 

Red gave his address. 

The machine swung around, and Barton 
gave himself up to his thoughts, paying no 
heed to the passing streets as the taxi sped 
along. 


CHAPTER IX 


JOE GETS BUSY 

When Joe said that he was going to 
make it his business to find Grant Barton, 
he realized that he had set himself quite a 
task. 

Black might be a crook, but Joe knew he 
was no fool. However, when a man steps 
from the narrow path, he is more than likely 
to overstep his good judgment before he 
gets through. That is why the prisons are 
full of clever criminals. 

It came to Joe, after some thought, that 
his best plan would be to follow Black. 

“ If I’m right, he’s sure to go and see 
Hufnagel sooner or later,” the lad told him¬ 
self. 

Leaving The Argus office, he took a posi¬ 
tion across the street where he could see 
every one that emerged without himself 
being observed. His patience was rewarded 

107 


108 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

at last. Black came out and walked hur¬ 
riedly down the street. 

Joe followed him. 

Apparently Black had no suspicion that 
he might be followed, for he went directly 
to a well-known hotel. Joe entered behind 
him, and saw him take a key from the room 
clerk, a young man whom the lad knew well. 

Joe loitered around for a few minutes, 
then approached the desk as though he had 
just entered the hotel. 

“ Hello, Billy,” he greeted the clerk. 
“ Has Black arrived yet? He was to meet 
me here.” 

“ Sure; he went up to his room not ten 
minutes ago.” 

“Good!” exclaimed Joe, as he turned 
away. “ Let’s see,” he added, pausing, 
“ what’s the number? ” 

“ Eight twenty-one.” 

Joe hastened to the elevator, and was on 
the point of entering it when he stepped 
back suddenly and turned his back. His 
action was occasioned by the fact that he 


JOE GETS BUSY 


109 


had caught a glimpse of Herman Hufnagel 
as he came in the door. Hufnagel crossed 
the floor rapidly, entered the elevator, and 
was whisked upward. 

Joe waited five minutes and then fol¬ 
lowed. 

When the lad reached room 821 the door 
was closed. He drew close and put his ear 
to it. He could hear voices, but could not 
distinguish what was being said. 

He turned the knob quietly and tried the 
door. It was not locked, and he gently 
opened it a crack. Then he could hear per¬ 
fectly. 

“ Well, let ’em surmise,” came Huf- 
nagel’s voice. “ They’ve thought before 
this that you were in on the deal, haven’t 
they? ” 

“ Yes; but if by any chance Barton should 
show up to-night, it would be all over. I’d 
have to quit.” 

“ He’ll not show up, Black.” 

“ I’m not so sure.” 

“ I am. That taxi-driver is no fool. 


110 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


When he informs me that he left Red 
Barton where he will tell no tales, I believe 
him.” 

“You don’t think he killed him? ” 

“ I’m not asking questions. If he hurt 
him, I don’t want to know it.” 

“ Did he say where he left him? ” 

“No; only that he took him down the 

• >> 
river. 

There was silence for a moment or two, 
and then Joe heard Black say: “ Well, I’ve 
got to be getting back to the office. But 
I’m mighty nervous over the whole deal.” 

“I should think you would be!” Joe 
muttered to himself, as he gently closed the 
door and hastened away. 

The little that Joe had heard of the con¬ 
versation was not especially comforting, nor 
did it give him much of a clue to Grant’s 
present whereabouts. Of one thing he felt 
certain, however—Red had been taken out 
of the city, and for no good purpose. 

“ I don’t believe all that Hufnagel said,” 
was the lad’s mental comment. “No taxi- 


JOE GETS BUSY 


111 


driver is going to take a man out and kill 
him and then come back and talk about it. 
That is all out of reason.” 

Hufnagel’s statement that Barton had 
been taken down the river made Joe un¬ 
easy. 

“ There are some pretty wild places down 
there,” he muttered. 

What to do, Joe didn’t know. It was now 
after eleven o’clock, and a drive into the 
country in the dark would be worse than 
useless. 

“ Guess I’ll have to put it up to Chief 
Harrigan,” he said finally, and turned his 
steps toward headquarters, where he knew 
he would find the chief of police even at that 
late hour. 

“ It’s a pretty serious matter,” said Chief 
Harrigan, after the lad had stated his case. 

“What can we do, Chief?” asked Joe 
anxiously. 

“ Well, the logical thing to do would be 
to find the taxi-driver, if possible; but that’s 
likely to be as hard a task as locating 


112 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Barton. By the way, has Hufnagel left 
the hotel yet? ” 

“ I don’t know, Chief.” 

“ Suppose we go and see.” 

Chief Harrigan reached for his hat, but 
the buzzing of the telephone arrested his 
hand. He placed the receiver to his ear and 
called, “Well?” 

For a moment there was silence, and then 
Joe saw a broad smile spread over the 
chief’s face. 

“ Where are you now? ” he asked, and 
continued after a pause: “All right. We’ll 
have some one out there after you right 
away.” 

He replaced the telephone and looked at 
Joe. 

“ Know who that was? ” he asked. 

“ Sure; it was Red.” 

“ That’s right. Where do you suppose he 
is?” 

“ I give it up.” 

“ Westport,” said the chief, mentioning 
a suburban community about eight miles 


JOE GETS BUSY 


113 


from Wolverton. “ Says he has the story 
of his life, and wants me to get word to you 
to come and get it. He’s at the Country 
Club” 

Joe waited to hear no more. 

“See you to-morrow, Chief,” he said as 
he moved toward the door. “ I’m going to 
break all speed records in getting to West- 
port.” 

Half an hour later the lad stopped his ma¬ 
chine in front of the Westport Country 
Club. Without ceremony he sprang up the 
steps, and there, in a big porch chair, both 
feet on the railing, sat Grant Barton. 

Joe seized him by both hands. 

“ By Jove! I don’t believe I was ever so 
glad to see any one in my life!” he ex¬ 
claimed. Then, noticing that Red made no 
move to arise, he demanded, “ What’s the 
matter? ” 

Red grinned. 

“ I tried to run too fast and fell down,” 
he replied. 

“ What’s the joke? ” asked Joe. 


114 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ It’s no joke, Joe. It was dark and I 
stepped into a hole.” 

“ Can you walk? ” 

“ Oh, yes; but it hurts.” 

“ Well, I’ll help you into the car and we’ll 
get back to town. Why didn’t you ’phone 
sooner? I’d have been out long ago. I’ve 
been worried more than I know how to tell.” 

“ It’s a long story,” said Barton. “ I’ll 
tell you about it as we ride along. The 
thing now is to get my stuff into type, and 
we mustn’t even let Black see the proofs. 
It’ll be a nice little surprise for him.” 

They were soon in the car, and Barton 
told his story, which the reader knows up to 
the time that Barton started home after 
leaving Hufnagel’s house. 

At that time it was well after three o’clock 
in the morning—about the time that Red 
usually went to sleep. 

That must have been just what he did 
in the taxi, for when he presently came to 
himself with a start he was lying on the 
floor of the cab. 



JOE GETS BUSY 115 

“Hey!” he called to the driver. 
“ What’s the matter? ” 

“ Hit a rock! ” came the reply. 

Red pulled himself up and looked out the 
window. He could see nothing—no 
houses, no street lamps,—nothing but dark¬ 
ness. 

“ Where are we? ” he asked, opening the 
door and peering out. 

“ It’s too deep for me,” replied the driver. 

“You don’t know where we are? ” 

“ No, sir!” 

“ How’d you get here? ” 

“ Must have dropped off to sleep and 
driven right on out of the city.” 

“ That’s a likely tale,” said Red sus¬ 
piciously. 

“ It’s as good a one as you’ll get,” was 
the surly reply. 

Red climbed out to look around. The 
driver sat still. 

“ Aren’t you going to do anything? ” 
Red demanded. 

“ Nothing to do until it gets light.” 


116 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Red walked to the front of the taxi, to 
see what the cab had run into. 

“ I don’t see any rock here,” he remarked. 

“ Is that so? ” said the driver, apparently 
interested. “ Look out, then. I’ll see if I 
can start her.” 

He plugged the starter. The engine 
coughed several times, and then, before Red 
knew what was happening, the taxi sped 
away in the darkness. 

For a moment Red was dumfounded. 

“What a fool I am!” he exclaimed 
finally. “ I’ve been tricked! ” 

“ Well, I should say you were tricked,” 
Joe put in when his companion reached that 
point in his story. “What did you do?” 

“ I did the one thing I should not have 
done. I started running after that taxi. 
Suddenly I stepped on a loose stone and 
went down. I didn’t think much of it at 
the moment, although my foot hurt when I 
got up. I started walking, but the farther 
I walked the worse the foot hurt. Finally 
I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I did 


JOE GETS BUSY 


117 


what I should have done in the first place. 
I sat down in the corner of a rail fence and 
went to sleep.” 

Joe laughed. 

“ That’s certainly what you should have 
done,” he agreed. 

“ Yes,” Red went on, “ it never pays to 
work—or walk—in the dark. I had all 
the rest of the night and all day to get home. 
If I had taken a nap in the first place, I 
should have been all right. 

“ Well, I slept there until after seven 
o’clock. When I awoke I was about 
starved, and when I tried to walk I couldn’t 
take a step. So I took it out in thinking. 
This little breath of spring seemed to 
sharpen my wits. I figured I’d hail the first 
passing vehicle and find out just where I 
was. Then I’d get some passer-by to 
take me to a farmhouse or some other quiet 
spot, where I could get something to eat 
and a few sheets of paper, and I’d write out 
my story.” 

“ Why not notify the office? ” asked Joe. 


118 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ Just to throw Black and Hufnagel off 
the track. And that is the policy we must 
pursue. Neither Black nor Hufnagel must 
know where I am until after the election.” 

“Great!” exclaimed Joe with a laugh. 
“ But go on with your story.” 

“ It must have been about half an hour 
later,” Red continued, “ when a flivver came 
along. I crawled out where I could be seen, 
and the driver stopped. When he told me 
where I was, I found I’d walked about a 
mile in the wrong direction. It was from 
the flivver driver that I learned the West- 
port Country Club was only three miles 
away. I gave the man a couple of dollars 
to take me there.” 

“See any one there you knew? ” asked 
Joe. 

“ Only Livingston, the manager. He 
certainly was surprised to see me in this 
shape. He gave me a nice room, and I sat 
with my foot in the bath-tub half full of hot 
water most of the day while I wrote my 
story.” 


JOE GETS BUSY 


119 


“ I'll bet it’s a corker,” laughed Joe. 

Barton grinned. 

“ It’ll give Wolverton something to think 
about,” he said. 

By this time they were within the city 
limits. 

“ Where’d I better take you? ” asked Joe. 

“ I hardly know,” returned Red slowly. 
“ I want to be where I can be in touch with 
Mr. Hunter, but I don’t want Black or 
Hufnagel to know.” 

For a moment Joe was silent. Then, as 
he turned a sharp corner, he said: “ That’s 
easy. I’ll take you right to my house.” 

“ Fine, if your mother is agreeable.” 

“ She’ll be glad to have you,” said Joe. 

Half an hour later Grant Barton was 
safely ensconced in a room adjoining Joe’s, 
while Joe himself was back at The Argus 
office in confidential conversation with 
Andy McHugh, the foreman of the compos¬ 
ing-room. 

“ Put two fast men on this story,” Joe 
instructed, “ and rush me the proofs as fast 


120 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


as the stuff is set. I’ll depend upon you not 
to let Black find out there is such a story in 
the office.” 

“ Leave it to me, Joe,” replied the fore¬ 
man. “ Black will know nothing about this 
until he reads it in the paper.” 

Andy was as good as his word. 


CHAPTER X 


CIRCUS DAY 

The feelings of Black and Hufnagel 
when they opened The Argus the following 
morning may be better imagined than ex¬ 
pressed. Likewise the thoughts of thou¬ 
sands of other readers of the paper. In 
fact, Grant Barton’s story created such in¬ 
terest that the circulation of The Argus 
jumped several thousand. 

It may be stated in closing this incident 
in the careers of Joe Hunter and Grant 
Barton that the circulation gained by the 
Hufnagel campaign was retained. 

It is unnecessary to go into the details of 
the next few days. It is sufficient to say 
that Black had the wisdom to resign his 
place as managing editor, and that when the 
city election came around, Hufnagel re¬ 
ceived so few votes that he was virtually 

snowed under by the opposition. 

121 


122 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


The defeat of Hufnagel was a splendid 
victory for The Argus and a tremendous 
boost for both Grant and Joe. 

Following the resignation of Black, Mr. 
Hunter offered Barton the position of man¬ 
aging editor, but Red declined it. 

“ I’m a little young yet for that place,” 
he said. “ Besides, I believe I am better 
fitted to be city editor. I know Wolverton, 
but I may not know the rest of the world 
as well as another.” 

“ Managing editors are not easy to find 
—at least, good ones aren’t,” declared Mr. 
Hunter. 

“ Why don’t you look after that end of 
the work yourself? ” asked Red. 

“Too much else to do.” 

“ I know,” replied Red with a grin, “ but 
look at your able assistant.” 

Mr. Hunter saw the point at once. 

“ I’ll have to admit I don’t have as much 
to do in the counting-room as I did before 
I took Joe in,” he said. “ I suppose I really 
might devote a little more attention to the 


CIRCUS DAY 


123 


news end of the paper. At any rate, I shall 
not be in a hurry to hire a new managing 
editor. One may develop.” 

When Red told Joe of the conversation 
the boy was much pleased. 

“ He must think I’m making good,” he 
laughed. 

“ So does every one else,” was Red’s re¬ 
ply. “Now that Black has gone, there isn’t 
a man on the paper who isn’t as loyal to you 
as he was to your father. All of them have 
the interest of The Argus at heart. If you 
doubt it, try them out.” 

Joe saw no way of trying them out at the 
moment, but when the opportunity did 
come, he found that Red had spoken noth¬ 
ing more than the truth. 

Two days after election Joe met Ebe- 
nezer Cady on the street. 

“ Well! Well! ” was the big man’s greet¬ 
ing. “ I hear a lot about you these days, 
but I never see you at the house.” 

Joe flushed. 

“ I’ve been pretty busy,” he replied. 


124 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ I know you have. But remember that 
all work and no play is almost as bad as all 
play and no work. When I was a lad they 
used to tell me that all work and no play 
makes Jack a dull boy.” 

“ Maybe I’ll be able to play a little later 
on,” remarked Joe. “ But I like my work.” 

“ Of course you do. But you must not 
shut yourself away from your friends, es¬ 
pecially if you expect to become a successful 
newspaper publisher. 

“ Too many editors,” Mr. Cady contin¬ 
ued after a pause, “ lose their grip on those 
they try to reach by not mixing more with 
the people among whom they live. You’d 
hardly count me among the big newspaper 
men of the land, but whatever success I have 
made has been due to keeping on intimate 
terms with the people of Wolverton. You 
mustn’t think you can shut yourself up in 
your office and from there influence people 
to think as you think. The greatest news¬ 
papers are those which are able correctly to 
voice public sentiment; not control it.” 


CIRCUS DAY 


125 


“ Publicity is the motto of The Argus ” 
was Joe’s reply, “ and I trust I may be able 
to live up to my father’s ideals.” 

“ That’s all right, Joe. Rut don’t think 
you must stop where your father did. 
Why, with your opportunity you ought 
soon to go far beyond anything he ever 
dreamed; but whatever else you do, don’t 
take life too seriously. Now, remember! I 
shall expect to see you at the house right 
soon.” 

The two shook hands and parted. 

“ I suppose Mr. Cady is right,” Joe told 
his mother, when he repeated the conversa¬ 
tion over the dinner-table that night. “ I’ve 
been so busy since I went into the office that 
I have almost forgotten what a day off, or a 
night off, would be like. I must call on the 
Cadys as soon as I can find the time.” 

The opportunity came much sooner than 
Joe anticipated, and in a manner entirely 
unexpected. 

As in every other city of its size, the first 
circus of the season was a big event in 


126 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Wolverton. Particularly is circus day a big 
one for newspaper workers. 

While the coming of the circus is always 
heralded days in advance by flaming posters 
on blind walls and billboards, it nevertheless 
depends—like every other amusement enter¬ 
prise—to a large degree upon the news¬ 
papers for its publicity. 

Between the newspaper and the circus 
there is always the most friendly feeling. 
The newspapers are liberal with the circus, 
and the circus, in turn, is liberal with the 
newspapers. There are always plenty of 
passes—enough so that every employee may 
see the big show. 

The circus seems to be the newspaper 
man’s weakness, and the circus press agent 
—always a jolly good fellow—is received 
with open arms. 

It was about a week after Joe’s meeting 
with Mr. Cady that the circus came to 
Wolverton. 

For several days previous The Argus had 
carried big advertisements and feature 




CIRCUS DAY 127 

stories about the circus—for it was one of 
the largest ones—and on the day of the 
performance two reporters had been as¬ 
signed to report early and cover the parade 
and the crowds. 

It was still early in the morning when the 
press agent stepped into The Argus office. 
Joe at that moment was the only one on 
duty authorized to represent both the busi¬ 
ness and editorial ends of the paper. 

Friendly greetings were exchanged, busi¬ 
ness matters were settled, and Joe was lib¬ 
erally supplied with passes for the em¬ 
ployees. 

“ I suppose you're going to have a man 
out to write up the afternoon perform¬ 
ance? ” suggested the press agent. 

“ Sure,” replied Joe. “ I think the city 
editor is going out himself.” 

“You mean Red Barton? ” asked the 
press agent, as though Red were one of his 
oldest friends—for it is a qualification of 
every circus press agent that he have a 
friendship with every city editor in the land. 


128 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Joe replied in the affirmative. 

“ What’s the matter with going out with 
me—you and Red both? I’ll stop by for 
you at twelve-thirty.” 

“ Suits me,” laughed Joe. “ It will be 
the first time I’ve ever gone to a circus as 
the actual guest of the management.” 

So the matter was settled, and that after¬ 
noon the three started for the circus grounds 
together. 

Determined that the young men should 
see all there was to see, the press agent in¬ 
troduced them first to the Varnum brothers 
—owners of the show—then to the principal 
performers, and, lastly, to such of the ani¬ 
mals as were considered worthy of the intro¬ 
duction—Mumbo, the big elephant; Boli¬ 
var, the performing sea lion; and Hookum, 
the educated ape. 

“ Mumbo doesn’t seem just right to¬ 
day,” the press agent explained. “ He’s 
been restless ever since daylight. Some¬ 
thing seems to worry him.” 

“ Stomach-ache, maybe,” suggested Red. 


CIRCUS DAY 


129 


“ I should think the peanut shells might 
upset his digestion/’ Joe agreed. 

The press agent shook his head. 

“ Never heard of peanut shells affecting 
an elephant any more than a handful of 
nails would an ostrich,” he said. “ But let’s 
get inside. The show is about to com¬ 
mence.” 

Seated in the press box, Joe cast his eyes 
over the great crowd assembled beneath the 
“ Big Top.” There were at least five thou¬ 
sand persons there. Among these were hun¬ 
dreds of children. Also in the crowd Joe 
recognized many familiar faces—other 
newspaper men, aldermen, lawyers, and 
merchants, and with them their families. 

At his left and in the same tier with his 
own seat, Joe saw Mrs. Cady and her 
daughter, Hattie. He acknowledged their 
greeting and would have stepped over and 
spoken to them but for the fact that the 
grand march was about to begin. 

The circus proved just as good as had 
been advertised, and the crowd settled back 

s- 


130 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


to enjoy itself. It was the first really hot 
day of the season. When Joe entered the 
tent the sky had been clear and the sun was 
shining brightly. 

But suddenly there came a sharp flash of 
lightning as the sun disappeared, and then 
followed a clap of thunder. This was fol¬ 
lowed by a shrill trumpeting from Mumbo, 
the elephant. 

The performers paid no attention, so the 
audience was not alarmed. 

To Joe the thunder was a welcome sound, 
for it indicated cooler weather—an indica¬ 
tion that was strengthened a moment later 
by the gentle lifting of the roof of the great 
tent as a breeze forced its way through the 
openings above the side walls. 

“ That feels good,” Joe remarked to Red, 
as he mopped the perspiration from his fore¬ 
head. 

“You said something then,” Barton 
agreed. “ I-” 

He was interrupted by the shrill trumpet¬ 
ing of Mumbo and the other elephants. 



CIRCUS DAY 131 

This time the audience was startled. 
Looks of fear spread over many faces. 

There came another flash of lightning and 
another roar of thunder. But the show 
went on. 

For several moments after that there was 
no other intimation of the approaching 
storm, and the audience settled back in its 
seats once more. 

Then came a third trumpeting by the 
elephants, followed by a flash and a roar of 
thunder louder than before. 

The walls and roof of the tent began to 
sway. A murmur of apprehension welled 
up from the crowd. This was followed by 
a stronger gust of wind, and the cries of the 
jungle animals were wafted in from the 
menagerie. 

Groups of people in various parts of the 
tent began to leave their seats, but the ring¬ 
master called out: “ Keep your seats, good 
people! It is only a thunder shower and 
will soon pass.” 

The words were hardly out of his mouth 


182 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

when there came another crash. The ele¬ 
phants shrieked, and a blast of wind almost 
raised the big tent off the ground. 

“ It’s a cyclone! ” some one cried. 

In an instant all was confusion as the 
thousands rose and made a dash for the 
ground. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE CYCLONE 

The press box in which Joe and Grant 
Barton were seated was almost on a level 
with the ring. Behind them the seats rose 
tier upon tier. 

Realizing that they were in one of the 
safest places in the tent, they would have 
made no effort to move had it not been for 
the people above and behind them. When 
the wind filled the tent, and the roof lifted 
like a great balloon, those on the elevated 
seats began to scramble toward the ground. 

Anybody who has ever been to a circus 
knows how hard it is to descend from these 
seats when everything is orderly. Imagine, 
then, the confusion when the scramble be¬ 
gan. 

Men and women fought for places, and 
little children toppled from the seats to the 

ground. As long as the seats remained in 

133 


134 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


place, the safest place in the tent was be¬ 
neath them, for there was safety from 
trampling feet; but should the seats fall, 
those underneath would be crushed. 

While the tumult raged inside the tent, 
the wind roared and the rain came down in 
torrents outside. In the menagerie the ani¬ 
mals continued to shriek and howl. 

Fortunately the great center poles sup¬ 
porting the main tent, being perfectly per¬ 
pendicular, remained upright and held the 
canvas in place; but the secondary poles— 
those which held up the lower portions of 
the tent and were set at an angle—began to 
fall. 

One fell close to Joe, striking a man 
carrying a baby in his arms. The man stag¬ 
gered, probably would have fallen and 
dropped the baby had Joe not caught him 
by the arm and held him up. 

Twenty feet away another pole fell, and 
Joe heard a woman scream. Glancing 
quickly in that direction, the lad saw that 
the pole had fallen in such a manner that 




THE CYCLONE 


135 


Mrs. Cady and her daughter were trapped 
between it and the seats behind them. 

He leaped from the box and pushed his 
way toward them. It was not easy, for the 
crowd was milling toward the openings 
where the flies to the tent had been blown 
back, and Joe was plunging directly against 
the current. 

He managed to worm his way through, 
however, though it was with difficulty that 
he kept his feet. With the aid of a man 
who recognized the predicament of Mrs. 
Cady and her daughter, the lad lifted the 
pole sufficiently for them to step out of their 
prison. 

“ This is terrible! ” exclaimed Mrs. Cady, 
a frail little woman who had been a semi¬ 
invalid for a good many years. “We shall 
be killed! ” 

“ Brace up, Mother! ” cried her daughter, 
herself an athlete. “We are no worse off 
than the others. We’ll get out, all right.” 

“ Of course we shall, Mrs. Cady,” said 
Joe. “ Take my arm and hang on.” 


136 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Mrs. Cady clutched the lad’s arm in a 
strong grip, while Hattie supported her 
mother on the other side. In this way the 
little woman was almost lifted to an open 
space, and the three started for the nearest 
exit. 

They were making fair headway, despite 
the jam and the tumult, when, with a wild 
shriek, Mumbo, the great elephant, came 
plowing through the crowd. 

A cry of terror went up from the mul¬ 
titude. 

The jam increased as those in the ele¬ 
phant’s path rushed upon their fellows in an 
effort to clear a path for him. Mumbo 
turned neither to the right nor to the left, 
but dashed toward an opening on the other 
side of the tent, followed by several smaller 
beasts. 

Joe reached over into one of the boxes 
and picked up two chairs. 

“ Here, Hattie,” he cried, “ take one of 
these chairs and hold it down beside your 
mother on that side. I’ll hold one on this. 


THE CYCLONE 137 

It's the only way we can keep her from be¬ 
ing hurt.” 

The girl followed instructions, and for the 
next five minutes these two—using the 
chairs as braces—stood as a protecting bar¬ 
rier between Mrs. Cady and the terror- 
stricken crowd. 

By this time the tent had been pretty 
well emptied, and, although the rain con¬ 
tinued to fall in torrents, the cyclone had 
passed. 

Mrs. Cady, who had been standing trem¬ 
bling with closed eyes, opened them. 

“ We’re all right now, Mother,” said 
Hattie. 

“ But that awful beast! ” exclaimed Mrs. 
Cady. “ Did he kill any one? ” 

“ I don’t think so,” was Joe’s reply. 
“ But now, if you and Hattie will stay right 
here where I can find you again, I’ll go and 
see what has happened on the outside.” 

He made his way out of the tent, where 
a worse scene met his eyes. While it had 
been comparatively dry inside, water and 


138 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

mud added to the general appearance of 
havoc without. 

Across the field in which the tent was 
pitched the crowd was streaming toward the 
car lines, while in the other direction hun¬ 
dreds had taken refuge in the sheds and on 
the porches of such houses as had not been 
blown down. 

As he stood still a moment, debating the 
best way to get Mrs. Cady and Hattie 
home, he saw Grant Barton coming out of 
one of the houses. 

“ Ho, Red! ” he called. 

Barton turned at the sound of the lad’s 
voice. 

“ Oh, there you are! ” he exclaimed. “ I 
was getting uneasy about you. Where did 
you disappear to? I looked all around for 
you.” 

Joe explained. 

“ And now the question is, how to get 
Mrs. Cady and her daughter home,” he 
added. 

“ Not hurt, is she? ” 


THE CYCLONE 


139 


“ I don’t think so, but she’s as limp as a 
rag.” 

Before either could say more the clang¬ 
ing of the police patrol was heard, and a 
minute later a load of bluecoats drew up in 
front of them. 

“Hello, Red!” cried the sergeant in 
command. “ Anybody hurt? ” 

“ Several, I think. Better call all the 
ambulances you can.” 

“ And while you’re about it,” Joe put in, 
“ you’d better send for all available taxis.” 

It was almost twenty minutes later that 
the first taxi arrived, closely followed by 
others. All were immediately in great de¬ 
mand, but Joe managed to commandeer 
one of the first, and into it he helped Mrs. 
Cady and her daughter. 

“Aren’t you coming with us?” asked 
Hattie, as he gave the driver the address of 
the Cady home. 

“No, I think I had better stick around 
here for a while.” 

But Mrs. Cady wouldn’t hear of it. 


140 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

“ I’m so weak I know I’ll never get 
home,” she said. “ Come with us, joe.” ' 

“ Oh, you’ll be all right, Mrs. Cady/’ Jo6 
pretested. 

But Mrs. Cady insisted, and Joe was 
obliged to go. 

By this time the rain had ceased, and as 
they drove off, Joe saw Mumbo and the 
other elephants following their keeper back 
toward the menagerie tent. 

As the taxi stopped in front of the Cady 
residence, another automobile came tearing 
down the street. 

“ It’s Father! ” cried Hattie, as the ma¬ 
chine drew near. “ I wonder how he knew 
we were here.” 

Mr. Cady soon explained. 

He had been in conference at the bank 
when the storm broke. There no one had 
realized the force of the wind, for the stone 
building had withstood it easily. It was not 
until he received a telephone call from The 
Star office that he knew there had been any 
damage. 


THE CYCLONE 


141 


Rushing out, he had jumped into his car 
and made all possible haste toward the circus 
grounds. After a short search he had en¬ 
countered Grant Barton, who told him what 
had happened. 

“ And now that you are all right,” he said 
to his wife and daughter, 4 4 I’ll hustle back 
to the office and see if there is anything I 
can do.” 

“ I’ll go with you, sir,” said Joe. 

“ You’ll do nothing of the sort,” declared 
Mr. Cady. “It’s taken a cyclone to get you 
out here, and I intend you shall stay to din¬ 
ner. I know you’re not so important at the 
office that they can’t get along without you 
for a couple of hours.” 

Then to his daughter: “ Hattie, you take 
him in and see that he doesn’t leave before 
I get back. I’m proud of him, but this is a 
time when there will be plenty of men to do 
whatever is necessary.” 


CHAPTER XII 


AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR 

Having once decided to take an evening 
off, Joe determined to make the most of it, 
with the result that he not only remained to 
dinner with the Cadys, but stayed so late 
that it was almost midnight when he reached 
home. 

Joe’s home was a beautiful old place that 
had belonged to his grandfather. In those 
days it had been so far out that it was really 
a farmhouse; but Wolverton had grown 
rapidly, and now the house was well within 
the city limits. 

It was situated on the bank of the river 
that ran through the city, and was about two 
blocks from the edge of the Zoological Gar¬ 
dens, which, by the way, were quite exten¬ 
sive for a city the size of Wolverton. 

On the way home Joe stopped at The 

Argus office for a brief chat with Grant 

142 


AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR 143 


Barton, and to get a line on the news that 
would be in the morning paper. 

“ The cyclone is the big story, of course,” 
said Red, “ but the sidelights will make 
mighty good stuff.” 

“ Anything special? ” asked Joe. 

“ Yes. We’ve got the best animal story 
I have seen in many a day.” 

“ You mean the way the animals at the 
circus behaved during the storm? ” 

“ Yes. Martin wrote it. He’s been with 
more than one circus, and he was on the 
lookout for features the minute he heard 
Mumbo trumpet.” 

“ It was terrible,” Joe declared, “ but the 
funniest thing to me was the peaceable man¬ 
ner in which the animals returned when the 
wind died down.” 

“ All but the ape,” said Red. 

“ How’s that? ” 

“ It appears they were just about to 
bring Hookum and his family into the ring 
when the storm broke. They had just taken 
them from the cage when the elephants 


144 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


broke loose. The keepers managed to get 
Hookum and one of his children back into 
the cage, but Mrs. Hookum and the other 
child escaped.” 

Joe laughed. 

“ Sorry for Hookum,” he said. “ I sup¬ 
pose the police have been notified to look for 
them? ” 

“ Oh, yes. Also circus employees are 
scouring the city for them.” 

“ Well,” said Joe, preparing to go, “ if I 
see Mrs. Hookum and her offspring on my 
way home, I’ll notify her husband. I sup¬ 
pose you have his address? ” 

“ Fort Wayne. The circus arrives there 
in the morning for a three-day stay.” 

Joe left the office and went home. It was 
a warm night, and the last thing he did be¬ 
fore retiring was to throw open his window, 
which faced upon the park surrounding the 
Zoo. In five minutes he was dead to the 
world, sleeping just as any healthy and 
happy boy should. 

It must have been about five o’clock when 


AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR 145 


Joe was partially awakened by something 
tickling his face. He was too sleepy to in¬ 
vestigate, and, instead, pulled up the sheet 
and buried his face in his pillow. 

A few moments later his hair was pulled 
suddenly and painfully. 

“ Ouch! ” he exclaimed, putting his hand 
to his head and opening his eyes. 

What he saw brought him out of bed with 
a bound. 

Sitting on the side of the bed, grimacing, 
was a baby monkey, and in the window, 
watching, was Mrs. Hookum, so recently 
escaped from the circus. 

For a moment Joe didn’t know what to 
do. He had had no experience with the 
simian family, and he wasn’t sure the ape 
might not attack him. 

After a moment’s hesitation he stretched 
a hand toward the baby. Instantly there 
was a terrible chattering. Mrs. Hookum 
dropped from the window to the floor, 
while the baby ape leaped from the bed with 
a squeal of terror. 


146 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“Not so easy,” muttered Joe, raising an 
arm to shield his face should the mother ape 
attack him. 

But no attack followed. Instead, Mrs. 
Hookum seized her baby with one hairy paw 
and leaped back to the window sill. There 
she turned, chattered angrily at Joe for a 
moment, and then disappeared. Joe rushed 
to the window and looked out. But there 
was no sign of Mrs. Hookum. 

The lad went back to bed and to sleep. 

It was late in the afternoon when Joe 
entered the city room and approached Bar¬ 
ton’s desk. 

Red glanced up. 

“ How’s it look? ” asked Joe. 

“ Quiet,” was the city editor’s reply, “ ex¬ 
cept that there were an unusual number of 
petty robberies last night.” 

“ Footpads? ” 

“ No; burglary. More than a dozen cases 
were reported to the police this morning.” 

“ Amount to much? ” 

“A lot of stuff stolen, but nothing of 


AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR 147 

great value. The loot for the most part 
consisted of trinkets and jewelry left on 
bureaus and dressing-tables.” 

“ Any arrests? ” 

The city editor shook his head. 

“ The chief is keeping the matter quiet,” 
he said, “ which accounts for the fact that 
there is nothing in the afternoon paper. 
The thieves had such easy picking that the 
chief looks for further attempts to-night.” 

“ Looks like a circus job,” said Joe. 
“ Some of the followers who stayed behind 
for a clean-up, maybe.” 

“ I guess that’s about the size of it.” 

Red turned to speak to one of the re¬ 
porters, and Joe returned to his own office. 

It was after nine o’clock at night when he 
again strolled into the local room. 

“ Sit in for me, will you, Joe? ” asked 
Barton. “ There’s nothing doing, and I’m 
going out for a bite.” 

That is the way it looked—one of those 
dull nights which are the bane of every 
newspaper man’s existence. 



148 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Joe did as requested, and was amusing 
himself looking over the galley proofs when 
the telephone rang. Joe yawned and picked 
up the receiver. 

“ Hello,” he called sleepily. 

“ This is Jones,” came the police re¬ 
porter’s voice over the wire. 

“ All right, Jones,” said Joe. “ Any¬ 
thing big? ” 

“ No. Just a couple of housebreakings 
out on Trumbull Avenue. People coming 
home from the parks missed some jewelry 
from their bedroom.” 

“ Who are they? ” 

“ R. T. Henderson’s home.” 

“ Oh, yes. Valuable?” 

“ Not very.” 

“ Wait, then. I’ll give you a man to 
take the story. No arrests, I suppose? ” 

“ No.” 

Joe called one of the reporters and trans¬ 
ferred the call to one of the ’phone booths. 
Then he became engrossed in the proofs 
again. 


AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR 149 


Fifteen minutes later the telephone rang 
again. It was Jones, the police reporter, 
once more. 

“ More burglaries? ” asked Joe. 

“ Right you are,” replied Jones. 

“Where?” 

“ Trumbull Avenue. The housebreakers 
seem to be going right along the street. 
Half a dozen places in the same block have 
been entered. Nothing of any particular 
value taken. But these burglars must be 
pretty cool customers.” 

“ How’s that? ” 

“Well, they raided the kitchens in sev¬ 
eral places.” 

“ For food, you mean? ” 

“ Yes. In one place they strewed food 
all over the floor and made a terrible mess.” 

“ What are the police doing? ” 

“ Oh, there are a dozen of them out that 
way, I guess, but that doesn’t mean any¬ 
thing. They’ll look around a bit, but they 
won’t find anything. Think I’d better go 
myself? ” 


150 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


'‘Guess you had, Jones,” said Joe. 
“ Keep—hold on a minute! ” 

Joe’s last words were called forth by the 
reappearance of the city editor. The lad 
explained the situation briefly, and added: 
“ Think I’ll take a run out there myself.” 

Red nodded. 

“ Go to it,” he said. 

Joe turned back to the telephone. 

“You stay at headquarters, Jones,” he 
said. “I’m going out on Trumbull Avenue 
myself.” 

He replaced the receiver, picked up his 
hat, and hurried from the room. 

It was still early, so Joe took a street car 
instead of hiring a taxi. Several streets 
from the center of the night’s robberies he 
left the car and walked two blocks west to 
Trumbull Avenue. 

It was dark along the street, but lights in 
the windows signified that the inhabitants of 
fashionable homes along the block were still 
discussing the activities of the burglars. 

Joe walked away from the more illumi- 



AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR 151 


nated section. In the shadow of a large tree 
a rough hand was suddenly laid on his arm. 

“ Where you going? ” a voice asked 
sharply. 

Joe wheeled about, ready for action. As 
he did so a flashlight was turned into his 
face and the grip on his arm relaxed. 

“ Oh, it’s you, Hunter,” said the police¬ 
man who had accosted him. 

“ Right you are, Murphy,” replied Joe, 
recognizing the other’s voice. “ Found the 
burglars yet? ” 

“ Not yet,” replied the policeman, grin¬ 
ning in the semi-darkness. “And we won’t 
find them, either, take it from me.” 

“ Why not? ” demanded Joe. 

“ Too many of us out here,” declared the 
bluecoat. “ Might just as well have sent 
the burglars a letter telling them we were 
coming. No regular burglar is going to 
work with the streets filled with cops.” 

“ Maybe not,” Joe agreed, “ but I’ve seen 
no sign of any cop but you.” 

“ There are plenty here, though, don’t 


152 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


you worry about that,” declared Murphy. 
“ They’re out of sight among the trees, but 
they’re on the job. What are you doing 
here? ” 

“ Trying to find the burglars.” 

“ Well, you’d better go away. It’s risky 
in the first place, and the chief wouldn’t like 
the idea of your butting in and maybe scar¬ 
ing the burglars away.” 

“ I’m willing to take the risk,” Joe re¬ 
plied, “ and what the chief thinks doesn’t 
worry me a whole lot.” 

Policeman Murphy chuckled. 

“ I’ve noticed that before,” was his re¬ 
sponse, “ but at the same time, if I were 
you-” 

He broke off suddenly and seized Joe by 
the arm. 

“ What’s that? ” he cried. 

Joe did not pause to answer. 

Shaking off Murphy’s grip, he dashed 
down the street toward the spot from where 
had come a woman’s shrill scream. 

Policeman Murphy darted after him! 



CHAPTER XIII 


THE ROBBERS 

As Joe sped down the street other figures 
emerged from the shadow of the trees and 
hurried after him. But Joe proved himself 
the best sprinter, and consequently was the 
first to reach his destination. 

On the front porch of a house, somewhat 
larger than the rest and closely surrounded 
by half a dozen large trees, stood a woman 
whom Joe recognized as Mrs. Tomlinson, 
the wife of a prominent banker. The elec¬ 
tric porch-light was turned on, and the lad 
could see that she was greatly agitated. 

He hurried to her side. 

“What’s the matter, Mrs. Tomlinson?” 
he asked. 

Mrs. Tomlinson recognized him at once. 

“ There was some one in my bedroom! ” 
she gasped. “ When I went in to turn on 

the light I heard him run across the floor.” 

153 


154 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“Did you see him?” asked Joe, waving 
back half a dozen blue-coated figures that 
now came hurrying up. 

“No. I didn’t stop to turn on the light. 
I ran down-stairs, came out on the porch, 
and screamed for help.” 

“ Where is Mr. Tomlinson? ” Joe asked. 

“Attending a board meeting. I’m all 
alone.” 

At an order from their sergeant, all but 
one of the policemen had scattered along 
either side of the house, and now were flash¬ 
ing their electric torches in all directions. 
Only Murphy remained with Joe and Mrs. 
Tomlinson. 

“ Will you show me the room, Mrs. Tom¬ 
linson? ” said Joe. 

“ Surely you’re not going up there! ” the 
woman exclaimed. 

“ I most certainly am,” Joe declared. 

“ But-” 

“ Now, don’t worry, Mrs. Tomlinson,” 
said Joe quietly. “Murphy here will go 
with me. He’s armed. Besides, there are 



THE ROBBERS 


155 


plenty of police here to handle a single 
housebreaker.” 

At this Mrs. Tomlinson consented to 
show them the way. 

“ But I’m going with you,” she insisted. 
“ I wouldn’t stay down here by myself.” 

Neither Joe nor Murphy interposed any 
objection, so she followed them up the stairs. 

“ Second door to the left,” Mrs. Tomlin¬ 
son directed them. 

She stopped at the top of the stairs, while 
the two went forward. 

“ Better let me go in first,” said Murphy, 
approaching the door, flashlight in one hand 
and revolver in the other. 

But Joe did not wait for him. He 
stepped into the dark room and reached for 
the electric-light switch, the location of 
which Mrs. Tomlinson had described. 

As he stretched out his hand something 
struck him a sharp blow in the forehead. 
Before Murphy could enter the room and 
flash his torch Joe heard soft footsteps pat¬ 
ter across the room toward the window, a 


156 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


slight scraping sound, and then there was 
silence. 

“ What’s the matter? ” demanded Mur¬ 
phy, flashing his torch. 

At the same moment Joe switched on the 
lights and the two looked about. 

“ Nobody here,” said Murphy. 

“No; but there was when I came in,” Joe 
declared. 

“Go on, now!” exclaimed Murphy. 
“You can see for yourself there is nobody 
here.” 

Joe glanced about the room again, looked 
under the bed, opened the door to a closet 
and peered in. 

“ Nobody here now,” he agreed, “ but I 
tell you there was some one here when I 
came in the door.” 

He passed his hand across his head and 
the hand came away slightly crimsoned. 

“ Just a scratch,” he explained, “ but 
whoever was in here hit me with something 
sharp.” 

He looked at the floor near the door, and 


THE ROBBERS 157 

there lay a little gold-handled paper-knife. 
Joe picked it up. 

“ Here’s the weapon,” he continued, “ but 
the intruder didn’t try to stab me with it.” 
“ Then how-” 

“He simply threw it at me, and the point 
grazed my forehead.” 

“ Hm-m,” said Murphy. “ Where did he 
go?” 

“ He went out the window.” * 

“ Jumped out, eh? ” 

“ I suppose so.” 

The two crossed the room and peered out 
the window. 

“ Some jump,” was Murphy’s comment. 
Joe agreed, for it was at least fifteen feet 
to the ground. 

“ He could have done it, though,” the po¬ 
liceman went on, half to himself. 

Joe pointed to a large tree perhaps ten 
feet away. 

“ How about that? ” he asked. 

Murphy shook his head. 

“ I used to be something of an athlete,” 



158 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


was his reply, “ but I wouldn’t want to 
tackle a jump like that, particularly in the 
dark.” 

“ Well, whoever was in here went out that 
window, just the same,” declared Joe. “ I 
don’t know whether he went by way of the 
tree or simply leaped to the ground. But 
he was here; that’s sure. I didn’t throw 
that paper-knife at myself, you know. So, 
as I say, he was here, but he’s gone. We’d 
better get down-stairs and have a look 
around.” 

Murphy nodded and they left the room. 

In the hall Mrs. Tomlinson spoke ea¬ 
gerly: “ Did you find him? ” 

“ No,” Joe replied. “ He went out the 
window.” 

“But he couldn’t!” exclaimed the 
woman. 

“ But he did,” replied Joe, somewhat net¬ 
tled. 

“ But-” 

Joe waited to hear no more. He led the 
way down the steps. 



THE ROBBERS 


159 


At the front door half a dozen policemen 
were clustered. 

“ Nobody around,” said one. 

Murphy explained to the others what had 
happened up-stairs. The police scattered to 
make another investigation. Joe remained 
to speak to Mrs. Tomlinson. 

“ It’s perfectly safe for you to go to your 
room now,” he said. “ I’m sure you’ll be 
disturbed no more to-night. Whoever was 
in the house has gone, you may be sure. 
Besides, the police will be sticking around. 
It wouldn’t be safe for the intruder to re¬ 
turn.” 

Mrs. Tomlinson thanked Joe for his as¬ 
sistance, bade him good-night, reentered 
the house, and ascended the stairs. 

Joe walked around the house and joined 
the little knot of policemen. 

“ Murphy,” was the remark he caught as 
he approached, “ it’s my belief young 
Hunter dreamed there was some one in that 
room.” 

“ Don’t you believe it, Jordan,” was Mur- 


160 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


phy’s reply. “ I tell you I saw blood on his 
head.” 

“Was it blood, or red ink, maybe? ” 
Jordan wanted to know. “ Sometimes these 
reporters do funny things to make what 
they call a story. Maybe he thought this 
was too good a chance to overlook. 
He-” 

He broke off as Joe came close. The lad 
grinned at him. 

“ That wouldn’t be a bad idea, Jordan,” 
he declared. “ Any time you get tired of 
the force come around and maybe I’ll give 
you a job. A man with an imagination like 
yours should make a name for himself in 
the newspaper business. Don’t put it off 
too long.” 

Jordan mumbled to himself, but made no 
reply. 

“ Well,” said another policeman, “ what 
I want to know is, if he was in that room, 
where did he go? ” 

“ You can’t prove it by me,” replied Joe. 
“All I know is-” 




THE ROBBERS 161 

y 

He broke off suddenly, and for a moment 
the group of men became silent. 

A light which had shone in Mrs. Tomlin¬ 
son’s bedroom went out and Joe heard her 
scream, “ Help! ” 


CHAPTER XIV 


A CAPTURE 

For a second Joe and the little knot of 
policemen stood motionless. Then there 
was a rush toward the front door. 

Joe found himself close on Murphy’s 
heels. 

“You don’t suppose the burglar has had 
the nerve to come back! ” he gasped. 

“No; he must have hidden in the house 
some way,” was the policeman’s reply. 
“ But my guess is that the lady is screaming 
at her own shadow.” 

Mrs. Tomlinson flung open the door as 
the officers appeared on the porch. 

“ What’s the matter? ” demanded Joe. 

“ He—he’s back! ” the woman gasped. 

“ Did you see him? ” 

“No, but I heard him in the up-stairs 
hall.” 

“ We’ll have another look,” said Murphy. 

162 


A CAPTURE 


163 


He turned to the others. “ The rest of you 
surround the house,” he ordered. “ If he’s 
in here, we’ll get him.” 

He motioned to Joe to follow him and 
darted up the steps. 

There was no light in the hall up-stairs, 
but every inch of it was plainly visible in the 
glare from the down-stairs light. 

“ Not here,” said Joe. 

“ We’ll try the room next to Mrs. Tom¬ 
linson’s,” said Murphy. 

A moment later the policeman flung open 
the door. The room was dark, so Murphy 
brought his flashlight into play. 

“ Don’t see anything,” he muttered. 

Joe, in the meantime, had opened a door 
across the hall and was trying to pierce the 
darkness. Consequently a sudden cry of 
alarm from Murphy took him by surprise. 

“ Help!” came the policeman’s voice. 
“ ’Tis the old ’un himself! ” 

Joe whirled in time to see a dark shape 
flash by Murphy into Mrs. Tomlinson’s 
bedchamber. 


164 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“After him, Murphy!” he cried, and 
sprang forward. 

But Murphy blocked his way. 

“ Don’t go in there! ” exclaimed the agi¬ 
tated police officer. 

“ Why not? ” demanded Joe, trying to 
dodge around Murphy. 

“’Tis Satan himself!” Murphy whis¬ 
pered. “ Ye’ll never get me in the same 
room with him.” 

Now Joe had caught only a glimpse of 
the figure that had darted into the room, but 
at Murphy’s words understanding came to 
him in a flash. 

He broke into a loud laugh. 

Murphy looked at him in amazement, and 
his grasp on the lad’s arm tightened. 

“Is it crazy you are? ” he demanded. 
“Ye mustn’t laugh at him. Ye are tempt¬ 
ing fate, I tell ye.” 

Joe laughed again. 

“ Satan!” he exclaimed at last. “Mur¬ 
phy, I’m surprised at you. That wasn’t 
Satan.” 


A CAPTURE 


165 


“ It wasn’t, eh? ” said Murphy, releasing 
his grip. “ Then maybe, seeing you are so 
smart, you can tell me who it was, eh? ” 

44 Of course I can.” 

“ Then who was it? ” 

44 Why, it was Mrs. Hookum.” 

Murphy stared at the lad in amazement. 

44 Are you crazy? ” he asked again. 

44 Not at all. I give you my word that 
was Mrs. Hookum who passed you.” 

44 Well,” said Murphy, unconvinced, 
44 where I come from they have no women 
that look like Mrs. Hookum, whoever she 
is. Who is this Mrs. Hookum, maybe you 
can tell me that? ” 

44 Of course. Mrs. Hookum is Hookum’s 
wife, and the mother of Baby Hookum.” 

44 Still fresh, eh? ” grumbled Murphy. 
44 But you’re so positive it was a woman 
just went by here, I’m going in after her. 
She may be a woman, but she’s a thief just 
the same.” 

He entered the room, but there was no 
one there. Murphy swung on Joe angrily. 


166 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ Well, where is she? ” he demanded. 
“ If that was a real woman went by me, she 
must still be here.’ , 

“ I didn’t say it was a woman,” replied 
Joe, looking over Murphy’s shoulder. 

“ You didn’t? Say, don’t you think I can 
hear? ” 

“No, I didn’t say it was a woman,” Joe 
repeated. “ I said it was Mrs. Hookum. 
Didn’t you hear me? ” 

“ By the powers-” Murphy began. 

“ Murphy,” Joe interrupted, “ don’t you 
read the newspapers? ” 

“ Read ’em? Of course I read ’em. But 
what-” 

“ Then you should know all about the es¬ 
cape of Mrs. Hookum.” 

“ But I don’t,” declared the policeman, 
“ and if you don’t explain this thing, I’m 
going to lug you off to an asylum. Who is 
Mrs. Hookum? ” 

“I’ve told vou she is Hookum’s wife, and 
the mother-” 

“ —of Baby Hookum,” Murphy inter- 





A CAPTURE 167 

rupted angrily. “ Yes, I heard all that. 
Well, what is she, then? ” 

“ Now, why didn’t you ask me that in the 
first place, Murphy? Mrs. Hookum is a 
lady monkey.” 

Comprehension dawned on Murphy. 

“ Oh,” he said, “ you mean the monkey 
that was with the circus? ” 

“ The same,” replied Joe. 

“No wonder I thought it was Satan,” 
muttered the policeman. He looked 
around. “ Where is Mrs. Hookum now, 
I’d like to know,” he said. 

Joe pointed out the window. 

“ She probably jumped into that tree,” 
he replied. 

They peered out. Below were several 
blue-coated figures, closely guarding the 
house to prevent the escape of the very 
active “ robber.” 

“See anything? ” one of them called. 

“ Plenty,” Murphy muttered under his 
breath. Aloud he replied, “Yes, I saw the 
robber.” 


168 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“Where is he? ” the voice below de¬ 
manded. 

“ It’s not a he,” Murphy called back. “ It 
ain’t human, either. It’s a female monkey.” 

He went into details. 

“ Well, where’s the monk now? ” de¬ 
manded another policeman. 

“ She jumped into that tree,” said Mur¬ 
phy. “And, as there is no other tree near, 
and you haven’t seen her come down, she 
must be up there yet.” 

“ What shall we do? ” 

“Arrest her!” declared Murphy angrily. 
“You fellows guard the tree until I get 
down there.” 

He hurried from the room with Joe at 
his heels. 

“ Look here, Murphy,” said Joe, “ you 
can’t arrest a monkey.” 

“I can’t, eh? Why can’t I?” 

“ Well, it’s not according to regulations.” 

“Regulations be hanged!” exclaimed 
Murphy. “ I was sent out here to nab a 
robber. This monk’s the robber, all right, 


A CAPTURE 169 

and she’s going to jail or I’ll know the 
reason why.” 

Joe grinned. 

“ I’m with you,” he said. 

The two joined the policemen under the 
trees. 

“ Well,” said one, “ if the monk hopped 
into the tree, she’s there yet. But—how 
are we going to get her down? Can you 
climb, Murphy? ” 

“ I—can—not,” Murphy replied briefly. 

“ I’ll go after Mrs. Hookum, Murphy,” 
said Joe. “ Flash your light up there.” 

The policeman did so, and there, far up 
among the branches, Joe saw two huddled 
figures,—plainly Mrs. Hookum and her 
baby,—the latter apparently having been 
left in the tree while Mrs. Hookum plied 
her nefarious calling. 

Apparently Mrs. Hookum was very 
much frightened, for she made no move as 
Joe approached her. At first the lad was 
somewhat skeptical about touching the 
monkey, but, as she remained perfectly 


170 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


quiet, he stretched out his hand and then 
ventured to pick her up. She chattered a 
bit, and with one paw reached out and 
seized her baby. 

Bearing his burden carefully, Joe climbed 
down. Pie approached Murphy and held 
the monkeys toward him. 

“ Here are your prisoners, officer,” he 
said. 



Far up among the branches, Joe saw two huddled 

figures.—P age 169 . 
































CHAPTER XV 
black’s hand 

The bank balance of The Argus com¬ 
pany had increased steadily since Joe’s con¬ 
nection with the counting-room. It had 
been remarked upon by bank officials, for 
most of them had been friends of the boy’s 
father. They watched Joe’s progress with 
interest. 

They knew that during the past year 
The Argus' account had been so small that, 
on one or two occasions, because of slight 
discrepancies in accounting, it had been 
overdrawn. 

The First National Bank was very par¬ 
ticular about overdrafts. While the man¬ 
agement was liberal in the matter of making 
loans to accommodate its customers, it was 
particular that such loans be made in a 
proper manner. Overdrafts are not consid¬ 
ered good banking. 


171 


172 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Lately, however, The Argus had carried 
a balance large enough to preclude the pos¬ 
sibility of overdrafts due to any slight error 
in figures. Besides, Joe had made it a point 
to keep the balance up to a given sum, of 
respectable size. 

Imagine the lad’s surprise, then, to re¬ 
ceive a notice from the bank one morning 
that The Argus account was overdrawn 
eighty-seven dollars. 

“ What’s this? ” he asked of the cashier, 
who gave him the notice. “ Why, my 
check-book shows we have a balance of more 
than five hundred dollars. What do our 
books show? ” 

The cashier consulted a slip of paper. 

“ Five hundred and forty-three dollars 
exactly,” he replied. 

“ There is some mistake somewhere,” said 
Joe. “ I’ll go over and see about it.” 

The paying teller greeted him cordially. 

“ Must be some mistake about this,” said 
Joe, passing him the notice of the over¬ 
draft. “ Our books show we have a balance 


BLACK’S HAND 173 

of five hundred and forty-three dollars this 
morning.” 

The teller called the bookkeeper. He re¬ 
peated Joe’s words, and added: “ Suppose 
you take Mr. Hunter in your office and go 
over the vouchers.” 

The bookkeeper did so. In less than five 
minutes they ran across a check for four 
hundred and fifty-six dollars made payable 
to Willoughby Black. 

“ What’s this? ” Joe exclaimed. “ Four 
hundred and fifty-six dollars to Willoughby 
Black? I’ve given Black no check for four 
hundred and fifty-six dollars or any other 
amount since he resigned.” 

“ This is signed by your uncle,” replied 
the bookkeeper. “ You know that, under 
your arrangement with the bank, you are 
both empowered to sign checks.” 

“ True,” said Joe, “ but we have only the 
one check-hook. I am sure Uncle Simon 
would have used no loose check, especially 
for such a sum. Let me see that check.” 

The bookkeeper passed it over. Joe ex- 


174 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


amined it carefully. It was a printed 
Argus check, but was unnumbered. 

“ Do you know,” he said finally, “ I don’t 
believe that is Uncle Simon’s signature.” 

“You don’t! ” exclaimed the bookkeeper. 

“ I do not.” 

“ You think it’s a forgery? ” 

“ That’s what I think. However, it is a 
simple matter to find out. I’ll telephone 
Uncle Simon.” 

He picked up the telephone. A moment 
later Mr. Hunter’s voice came over the wire, 
answering the call. 

“ Uncle Simon,” said Joe, “ what is this 
check for four hundred and fifty-six dollars 
you gave Black? ” 

“ Check? ” said Uncle Simon. “ I 
haven’t given Black any check.” 

“ Then you’d better come over to the bank 
and see about it. Such a check has been 
presented and paid.” 

Mr. Hunter was shown in fifteen min¬ 
utes later. The check was shown to him and 
he at once pronounced it a forgery. 


BLACK’S HAND 


175 


“ It looks much like your signature, sir,” 
said the bookkeeper. 

“ But it isn’t, young man,” declared Mr. 
Hunter. 

“ Who do you suppose is responsible, 
sir? ” 

“ Black himself, most likely. He fre¬ 
quently had one or more of our blanks.” 

“ It’s a wonder he didn’t make it out for 
more as long as he was about it,” said Joe. 

Mr. Hunter shook his head. 

“ He knew we haven’t been carrying very 
big balances for some time,” he replied. 

“ Bigger now than they used to be,” said 
the bookkeeper with a smile. 

“Yes, I am happy to say. If that 
weren’t a fact, however, Black would not 
have been able to do this.” 

“ Well,” said Joe, “ he needn’t think he 
can get away with it. We’ll swear out a 
warrant and have him arrested.” 

“ Of course, he may not have done it,” 
said Mr. Hunter. 

“ He passed forged paper, which is just 


176 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


as bad, if he knew it,” the bookkeeper re¬ 
marked. 

“ Ill find out,” declared Joe briefly. 

But the task wasn’t so easy as he imag¬ 
ined. The warrant was issued and an of¬ 
ficer was sent to arrest Black, but the former 
managing editor of The Argus was not 
at home. Inquiries developed that Black 
and his wife, together with several travel¬ 
ling-bags, had left the house in a taxi several 
days before. 

“ Probably left town,” was Grant Bar¬ 
ton’s comment when he heard of the mat¬ 
ter. “ Better assign Edmonston to find 
him.” 

Edmonston was the new police reporter. 

“ It isn’t the money,” said Joe, “ for the 
bank will have to make that good. But I 
hate to be robbed by such an amateur.” 

“ Looks rather professional to me,” 
laughed Red. 

“ Then we’ll get him just to protect the 
next town he strikes.” 

Assigned to the case, Edmonston did his 


BLACK S HAND 177 

best, but several days passed and he had 
found no trace of Black. 

“You might ask Hufnagel,” was Bed’s 
advice when Edmonston reported failure. 

Hufnagel was gruff and noncommittal. 
He finally admitted, however, that he had 
seen Black a few days before. 

“ He was buying an automobile of Bill 
Kerr, of the Packer company,” he said. 

Edmonston called on Kerr. 

“ I hear you sold Willoughby Black a 
car,” he said. 

“Yes, a six-cylinder touring-car. He’s 
taking a trip to Toledo.” 

“ I suppose he paid cash? ” asked the re¬ 
porter. 

“ No; four hundred down.” 

Edmonston laughed aloud. 

“ I hope you kissed your car good-bye, 
then,” he said. 

“ Why do you say that? ” demanded the 
auto dealer. 

Edmonston told him. 

“And if he told you he was going to 


178 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Toledo, he probably went in the opposite 
direction,” he concluded. “ I suppose you 
have the number of the car? ” 

“ Yes, and I’m going to get busy.” 

He did, but to no avail. Black seemed to 
have left no clue. 

“ What I can’t see,” said Edmonston, 
when he reported this development to Joe, 
“ is how Black is going to get very far on 
the little money he must have. I thought he 
knew too much to take up with such small 
game.” 

“ That’s so,” Joe agreed. “ Wonder if 
he could have robbed anybody else? ” 

The answer came in an unexpected man¬ 
ner. 

Two days later the bank telephoned Joe 
that another check purporting to have been 
signed by Simon Hunter in favor of Black 
had come in from Toledo for collection. It 
was for two hundred dollars. 

This time the check had been recognized 
as a forgery and payment had been refused. 
It had been sent through the Spizer 


BLACK’S HAND 


179 


Brothers’ bank at Toledo, and had been 
endorsed over to the Packer company by 
Black. 

“ Black isn’t such a fool after all,” mused 
Joe. “ He went to Toledo because he ex¬ 
pected every one to believe he was lying 
about his destination. I think I’ll run over 
to Toledo.” 

In Toledo Joe went at once to the Packer 
company. Black had been there the day be¬ 
fore. He had told one of the salesmen he 
was going to Detroit. 

Then Joe told the manager about the 
forged check. The information caused con¬ 
sternation, and the manager lost no time 
in telephoning the Packer agency in De¬ 
troit. 

Three hours later Joe was in Detroit, but 
the Packer company officials there had no 
news of Black, although they had been in 
communication with the police. 

Nevertheless, Joe remained in Detroit for 
two days. But nothing came of his search, 
and he returned to Wolverton. 


180 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ I was mistaken about Black being an 
amateur,” he told himself as he left the 
train. “ They don’t make ’em any smarter.” 

Joe’s estimate of Black was strengthened 
almost the moment he entered The Argus 
office. There he encountered the lawyer 
who handled the affairs of the paper. 

“ Have you found Black? ” asked the law¬ 
yer. 

“ No, sir. Have you? ” 

“ Hardly,” replied the lawyer briefly. 
“ The boot is on the other foot.” 

“ What do you mean? ” demanded Joe in 
surprise. 

“ Simply that Black has sued The Argus 
for fifty thousand dollars for defamation of 
character,” was the attorney’s reply. 


CHAPTER XVI 


A DEEP-LAID PLOT 

If Joe had been struck a blow in the face, 
he could not have been more surprised. 

“ Defamation of character! ” he repeated. 
“ I didn't know Black had any character.” 

“ Possibly not, but he evidently proposes 
to show otherwise.” 

“ But he’s a forger! ” 

“ He denies it. In papers filed yesterday 
Black alleges the checks were given him by 
your uncle.” 

“ For what, I would like to know? ” 

“ Valuable information, he says.” 

“ Uncle Simon says he didn’t give him the 
checks.” 

“ I know; but in court one man’s word is 
as good as another’s, unless he has been 
proved a perjurer.” 

“Well, what do you know about that!” 

was all Joe could say. 

181 


182 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

“ Furthermore/’ the lawyer continued, 
“ Black alleges that The Argus has im¬ 
paired his credit by circulating false re¬ 
ports.” 

“ Why, we never printed a word about 
him,” declared Joe hotly. 

“ That’s true; but your reporter, Edmon- 
ston, representing The Argus , told Bill 
Kerr that Black was a forger, and Kerr 
started proceedings to recover the car he 
sold Black.” 

Joe scratched his head. 

“ Looks like a mixed-up mess, doesn’t 
it? ” he said. 

“ It certainly does, Joe. Of course, there 
is no doubt that Black is guilty of forgery; 
but behind all this there is apparently some¬ 
thing by which he expects to clear himself.” 

“ I can see that,” Joe agreed, “ but how 
are we going to find out what it is? ” 

“ I know only one way: Give him rope 
enough and he’ll hang himself, as the old 
saying goes.” 

The lawyer departed and Joe went to his 


A DEEP-LAID PLOT 


183 


desk considerably disturbed. It was the 
first time he had had dealings with a man 
of Black’s caliber, and he was too young to 
fathom it. 

Later in the day, as Joe, Mr. Simon, and 
Grant Barton went over the situation, 
Grant advanced the theory that Black had 
learned what he considered an office secret 
and would spring it when the proper time 
came; or, if he didn’t do that, would prob¬ 
ably offer to make some sort of compromise 
for not making his information public. 

“ But we have no office secrets,” declared 
Mr. Hunter. “We never have had any.” 

“ Well,” Grant insisted, “ he has evolved 
some sort of a yarn he expects to use when 
the time comes. You mark my words.” 

“ In the meantime,” said Joe, “ I shall 
insist upon having him arrested the moment 
we learn his whereabouts.” 

But for two weeks Black remained hid¬ 
den, nor was any one able to locate him. 

“ He’ll be on hand to testify and answer 
all charges at the proper time,” his attor- 


184 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


ney declared, and with that the others were 
forced to be satisfied. 

Of course the filing of Black’s charges 
had made the entire affair public, and Wol- 
verton was greatly interested in the out¬ 
come. So important was the matter con¬ 
sidered that the attorneys had no trouble in 
procuring an early date for the trial. 

When the case was finally called the 
court-room was crowded. 

The Argus was represented by Attorney 
Freedman, and Black by a lawyer named 
Grabb. True to the attorney’s promise, 
Black accompanied him into court. If he 
had any fear of arrest, he gave no intima¬ 
tion of it. Instead, he smiled a greeting to 
the numerous people he knew. 

Joe and Grant were both on hand, of 
course, as was Mr. Hunter—all of them 
completely in the dark as to the course of 
action Black’s attorney had in mind. 

A suit for damages is what is known as a 
civil case. In order to win the case and be 
awarded damages. Black would have to 


A DEEP-LAID PLOT 


185 


show that he had been defamed, and to 
what extent he had been injured. If he 
were innocent of forgery, he had a good 
case; but if he had really forged the checks 
in question, he had no case, and was liable 
to arrest and imprisonment. It would then 
become a criminal case, and Black would be 
prosecuted by the district attorney, a State 
officer. 

A jury trial was demanded by Mr. 
Hunter, and the jury was duly impaneled. 

Attorney Grabb stated his case. In brief, 
it was that, for some reason unknown to his 
client, Mr. Black, Simon Hunter had de¬ 
clared checks given by him to Black—one 
for four hundred and fifty-six dollars and 
one for two hundred dollars—were for¬ 
geries; that Mr. Hunter had applied for a 
warrant for Black’s arrest on a charge of 
passing them; that a representative of The 
Argus had defamed Black by circulating 
malicious reports, and that Black’s reputa¬ 
tion had been damaged to the extent of fifty 
thousand dollars. 



186 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


The attorney denied the checks were 
forgeries. He declared they had been given 
personally to Black by Mr. Hunter. It was 
a business transaction, he declared. He 
said he was familiar with the signature of 
Simon Hunter, and that he believed the 
signatures on both checks in question were 
actually Mr. Hunter’s, and that it could be 
proved. 

In outlining the defense, Attorney Freed¬ 
man recounted Black’s activities in the Huf- 
nagel campaign, which, he said, had resulted 
in Black’s resignation to avoid dismissal. 
Since that time, he declared, Mr. Hunter 
had had no dealings whatever with Black, 
and had given him neither of the checks. 
He said he would be able to show that the 
signature of Mr. Hunter had been forged 
in both cases. 

“ Why,” he demanded in closing, “ should 
Simon Hunter give Willoughby Black six 
hundred and fifty-six dollars? He has had 
no dealings whatever with him, nor has Mr. 
Black rendered The Argus any service since 


A DEEP-LAID PLOT 187 

his resignation for which he could have 
asked such a sum.” 

“ That,” declared Attorney Grabb, “ is 
not a fact. Mr. Black did Mr. Hunter a 
great service, for which Mr. Hunter was 
pleased to reciprocate by advancing Mr. 
Black first a check for four hundred and 
fifty-six dollars, and, later, another for two 
hundred dollars.” 

“ What service, we should like to know? ” 
demanded Attorney Freedman. 

“ A service which my client does not feel 
at liberty to make public, as it reflects upon 
the integrity of Mr. Hunter’s nephew.” 

Had the roof of the court-house fallen in, 
it could have occasioned Joe and Grant Bar¬ 
ton no greater surprise. 

44 Is that true, sir? ” asked Joe, turning to 
his uncle. 

44 Absolutely not,” was Mr. Hunter’s re¬ 
ply. 44 1 have no idea what he is talking 
about.” 

Nevertheless, Mr. Freedman was sur¬ 
prised. He hesitated a moment, then said: 


188 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ If the court please, I would like to put 
Mr. Black on the stand. I had intended to 
begin with other witnesses, particularly the 
bank employees, but this statement is so 
strange that I should like to question Mr. 
Black under oath.” 

The judge ordered Black to the stand. 
After the usual preliminary questions as to 
his name, age, and place of residence, Mr. 
Freedman asked: “Mr. Black, where have 
you been for the past month? ” 

It was not a question Black exj)ected, and 
for the moment he was at a loss. Before he 
could reply his attorney exclaimed: “ I ob¬ 
ject! The question is not pertinent.” 

“ I think it is,” said Mr. Freedman. “ I 
think it will enable us to learn why Mr. 
Black needed six hundred and fifty-six dol¬ 
lars.” 

“You may answer the question, Mr. 
Black,” the judge instructed. 

“ In Maumee, Ohio,” said Black. 

“ Did you have business in Maumee? ” 

“ No, it was a pleasure trip.” 


A DEEP-LAID PLOT 


189 


“ Then you didn’t go there to avoid arrest 
in this State? ” 

“ I object! ” shouted Attorney Grabb. 

“ Objection sustained,” said the court. 
“ You need not answer that question, Mr. 
Black.” 

“ Then you needed six hundred and fifty- 
six dollars to take a pleasure trip, Mr. 
Black? ” continued Attorney Freedman. 
“ Was that why Mr. Hunter gave you those 
two checks? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Then why do you claim Mr. Hunter 
gave you the checks? What service do you 
claim to have rendered to earn this consider¬ 
able sum of money? ” 

“ Do I have to answer that? ” asked 
Black. 

“ Unless it will incriminate you,” replied 
the judge. 

“Well,” said Black, “ I gave Mr. Hunter 
some information about his nephew that I 
thought he should have, and he asked me 
not to make it public.” 


190 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ Oh, he paid you for your silence,” said 
Mr. Freedman. 

“ I suppose you might call it that.” 

“ In the law we call that blackmail, Mr. 
Black,” declared Attorney Freedman. 
“ Do you mean to tell me you blackmailed 
Mr. Hunter for six hundred and fifty-six 
dollars? ” 

“ No, sir,” replied Black, becoming sud¬ 
denly nervous. “ I simply told him that 
Joe had-” 

“ I didn’t ask you what you told Mr. 
Hunter, Mr. Black. When I want to know 
that, I will ask you. I simply ask you, did 
you blackmail Mr. Plunter for six hundred 
and fifty-six dollars? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Well, it looks mighty like it to me. By 
your own admission you claim to be a black¬ 
mailer to escape being called a forger. I 
think, Your Honor,” addressing the court, 
“ that I shall have to ask a warrant for this 
man, upon his own testimony, for black¬ 
mail.” 



A DEEP-LAID PLOT 


191 


Attorney Grabb interposed. 

“ If the court please,” he said, “ when we 
come to cross-examine the witness we shall 
bring out what it was that Mr. Black told 
Mr. Hunter.” 

“ I have no doubt that is what the gentle¬ 
man is trying to do,” declared Attorney 
Freedman. “ As I see it, the entire pro¬ 
ceeding is a deep-laid conspiracy to make a 
false accusation against young Mr. Hunter. 
I am familiar with the activities of the wit¬ 
ness, Black, and the politician, Hufnagel. 
I am also familiar with the story of how Mr. 
Black was discredited by the energy of the 
young men on The Argus, directed by 
young Mr. Hunter. I believe this is simply 
part of an effort to besmirch the young man 
and to injure his business career. I trust 
you will not permit the witness, Your 
Honor-” 

“ That is rather a broad statement,” in¬ 
terposed the judge. “ I think I shall have 
to allow Mr. Grabb to ask his questions, 
when you have finished with the witness.” 



192 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Mr. Freedman made a gesture. 

“ I’m through with him,” he replied. “ I 
didn’t expect to get the truth out of him, 
anyhow.” 

Attorney Grabb began his cross-examina¬ 
tion. 

“ Mr. Black,” he said, “ I am going to 
ask you to tell his honor and the gentlemen 
of the jury what it was you told Mr. Hunter 
about his nephew.” 

Black hesitated momentarily, then took 
the plunge. 

“ I told him,” he replied, “ that I had 
proof that a series of burglaries last month 
were planned by his nephew, either for his 
personal gain, or else to acquire notoriety 
for his paper and himself! ” 


CHAPTER XVII 


A NEW WITNESS 

A bombshell exploded in the court-room 
could not have created greater excitement 
than Black’s words. 

Joe and Mr. Hunter were both aston¬ 
ished, but their attorney, Mr. Freedman, 
manifested the greatest consternation. As 
Black’s attorney, Mr. Grabb, indicated by 
a wave of his hand that he was through with 
the witness, Freedman spoke to Joe in a low 
voice. 

“ Do you know what the man means? ” he 
asked. 

“ Of course not,” replied Joe decisively, 

“ Well, they’ve got something up their 
sleeves,” the lawyer declared. “ I don’t 
know whether to ask for a continuance or 
to proceed.” 

“ Proceed,” instructed Mr. Hunter. 

193 


194 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ Black is lying and is bound to stumble 
and-” 

The judge interrupted the conversation 
at this juncture. 

“ Have you any more questions to ask 
this witness, Mr. Freedman?” he inquired. 

“ None,” replied Mr. Freedman. “ How¬ 
ever, I do not believe this unsupported 
charge will satisfy the jury. No doubt Mr. 
Grabb has other and reliable witnesses to 
substantiate his charge? ” 

“ I have,” declared Mr. Grabb. He 
turned to Black. “You may step down, 
Mr. Black,” he added. 

Black left the witness stand with a smile 
on his face. 

“ Mr. Thomas Huggins,” called Attor¬ 
ney Grabb. 

From the rear of the court-room a little 
man attired in a shabby suit, and without 
a collar, shambled forward and took the 
stand. 

Joe gazed at his uncle in surprise. To the 
best of his knowledge, he had never seen this 



A NEW WITNESS 


195 


man before. Neither had any of the others 
in the Hunter party. 

“ Your name? ” demanded Attorney 
Grabb, when the little man had seated him¬ 
self. 

“ Huggins, sir; Thomas Huggins.” 

“ Your occupation? ” 

“ I’m an animal trainer, sir.” 

“ What sort of animals do you train? ” 

“ All sorts, sir; chiefly monkeys, though.” 
“ Who is your employer? ” 

“ Until a short time ago I was employed 
by Varnum Brothers Circus.” 

“ That is the circus which was here re¬ 
cently? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“You are not employed by Varnum 
Brothers now? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Why? ” 

“ Well,” said Huggins, shifting uneasily 
in his seat, “ I was offered a little job here 
if I would stay behind when the circus left 
town.” 


196 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ What sort of a job? ” 

“ Well—I—I—it was-” 

“ A job that was not strictly within the 
law, was it not? ” Attorney Grabb inter¬ 
rupted. 

“ That’s it, sir.” 

“ Is the person who offered you that job 
in the court-room? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“Will you point him out to the court, 
Mr. Huggins? ” 

With every eye in the court-room upon 
him, the little man got to his feet and 
scanned the faces before him. 

Now, while Joe and the others were ex¬ 
pecting an unlooked-for development, they 
were scarcely prepared for what followed. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Huggins 
raised a finger and pointed straight at Joe. 

“ There he is, sir,” he said, and sat down 
again. 

Joe sprang to his feet. 

“ That’s a-” he began, but Attorney 

Freedman pulled him back to his seat. 




A NEW WITNESS 


197 


“ Quiet,” he said. “ Let me handle this.” 

A gasp of amazement that ran through 
the court-room at Huggins’ startling state¬ 
ment subsided as Attorney Grabb con¬ 
tinued: “Mr. Huggins, will you tell the 
court just what proposal young Mr. Hunter 
made to you? ” 

“ It was just before the show,” Huggins 
began. “ I was standing beside the cage 
where Hookum, Mrs. Hookum, and their 
baby were. I-” 

At this point Attorney Grabb inter¬ 
rupted and addressed the court. 

“ Hookum, Your Honor,” he said, “ is a 
monkey. So are the rest of the Hookums.” 

The judge nodded. 

“ I read the papers. I know who they 
are,” he replied. 

Grabb motioned for Huggins to proceed 
with his story. 

“ Well,” Huggins went on, “ while I was 
standing there this young fellow,” indicat¬ 
ing Joe, “ came along and stood watching 
the monkeys. Just at that moment Mrs. 



198 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Hookum reached through the bars and 
lifted the watch out of the pocket of a man 
who was standing near. This young fel¬ 
low,” again indicating Joe, “ seemed mighty 
interested. After the crowd thinned out he 
came up and spoke to me.” 

“ 4 What did you do with the watch the 
monkey lifted out of the man’s pocket? ’ he 
asked me. 

44 4 I gave it back,’ said I. 

“‘No you didn’t,’ said he. 

“ Well, I did give it back, and I told him 
so again. 

Never mind,’ says he. 4 What I want 
to know is, can you make the monkey steal 
any time you want to? ’ 

“ 4 Well, I never have,’ I told him, 4 but I 
can, yes,’ and I asked him why. It was then 
he offered me this job.” 

44 Tell the jury what the job was,” Mr. 
Grabb instructed. 

44 Well, he wanted me to stay in town 
after the show left and keep Mrs. Hookum 
here. I was to let the monkey climb in 


A NEW WITNESS 


199 


houses at nights and steal jewels and little 
things like that. He said it would make a 
good story for his paper when he found the 
thief.” 

“ And you did it? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ How many houses did you rob? ” 

“ Oh, maybe a couple of dozen in two 
nights, before this young fellow caught Mrs. 
Hookum.” 

“ That’s all, Huggins,” said Attorney 
Grabb. He turned to the judge. “ That is 
our case, Your Honor,” he said. “My 
client, Mr. Black, got wind of the deal and 
informed Mr. Hunter. The two checks 
which are alleged to be forgeries were given 
to Mr. Black by Mr. Hunter to say nothing 
further about the matter. And he would 
have said nothing, had not this absurd 
charge of forgery been made.” 

4 4 Have you any questions to ask the wit¬ 
ness, Mr. Freedman?” inquired the judge. 

Attorney Freedman was already on his 
feet. 


200 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ I have, Your Honor/’ he declared, and 
swung on Huggins, who seemed to shrink 
back in his seat. 

“ Do you know what perjury means? ” he 
shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the 
witness. 

“ I object!” cried Attorney Grabb, 
springing to his feet. 

“ Objection sustained,” said the court. 

“Very well,” said Mr. Freedman. 
“ Huggins, you say young Mr. Hunter put 
you up to having the monkey steal? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ And you engineered the thefts—I 
mean, you picked out the houses to be 
robbed and took charge of the loot? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ What did you do with it? ” 

“ I gave it to young Hunter.” 

Attorney Freedman gave a start of sur¬ 
prise. 

“ Hm-mm,” he said. “ The loot should 
have been yours, if your story is true.” 

" Oh, no, sir. I gave it to young Hunter. 



A NEW WITNESS 


201 


When we talked the matter over, I told him 
I was no thief and wouldn’t go into such a 
deal. Then he explained that he wasn’t a 
crook, either. Said he would see that the 
jewels were restored to their owners. I 
supposed he was honest. Didn’t he turn 
back the jewels? ” 

“ I’m doing the questioning here, Hug¬ 
gins,” said Mr. Freedman sternly, and con¬ 
tinued the cross-examination with all his 
legal acumen. 

He fired question after question at Hug¬ 
gins for perhaps fifteen minutes, but, try as 
he would, he could not shake the little man’s 
story. Finally he gave it up and called Joe 
to the stand. 

Joe denied emphatically that he had ever 
seen Huggins before. He told of the storm 
that had struck the circus, and said he sup¬ 
posed the monkey cage had been opened 
accidentally. 

It developed, however, when Huggins 
was recalled to the stand by Attorney Grabb 
a little later, that Huggins had removed 


202 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Mrs. Hookum and her baby before the 
storm broke. 

The trial consumed the better part of the 
day before the lawyers made their closing 
arguments and the judge gave the case to 
the jury. 

“ Well, I have done the best I can,” de¬ 
clared Mr. Freedman, as the jury retired, 
“ but I’m afraid, Joe, that this case looks 
bad for you.” 

“ But I’m innocent,” Joe protested. 

“ I know that. Of course, Black has 
coached Huggins in his story, but it’s a 
good one, and I wasn’t able to shake it. 
We’ll wait here for the verdict.” 

It was after six o’clock when the jury 
filed in and the foreman announced that a 
verdict had been reached. 

“We find the defendant-” began the 

foreman, in a low voice. 

At that moment there came an unex¬ 
pected interruption. 



CHAPTER XVIII 


BLACK ESCAPES 

There was a craning of necks as a figure 
strode down the aisle toward the judge’s 
bench, and the foreman of the jury broke 
off in the middle of reading the verdict. 

The judge rapped sharply with his gavel. 

“ What’s the meaning of this? ” he de¬ 
manded sternly. 

“I’d like to say a few words before the 
verdict is read,” replied the newcomer. 

“Has what you have to say any bearing 
on this case? ” 

“ It has, Your Honor. May I have a 
word first with counsel for the defense? ” 

The judge nodded his consent. 

Joe had recognized the newcomer at once. 
It was Wright, press agent for Varnum 
Brothers Circus. 

Wright’s conversation with Attorney 

Freedman was brief. 

203 


204 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

“ I was sent back to try to round up Mrs. 
Hookum and her baby,” he explained. 
“ They should have been returned to the 
circus long ago. I just chanced to hear of 
this case at the hotel. I believe I can clear 
it up in a jiffy.” 

“ How? ” asked Mr. Freedman. 

“ The judge is getting impatient,” said 
Wright. “ Put me on the stand and let me 
tell my story. It won’t take long.” 

The judge consented to this, although he 
remarked that the proceeding was unusual. 

“ Your name? ” asked Mr. Freedman, 
after the newcomer had been sworn. 

“ Samuel Wright.” 

“ Your occupation? ” 

“ Press agent for Varnum Brothers Cir¬ 
cus.” 

“ You have information concerning this 
case? ” 

“ Not concerning this case directly, but I 
can relate circumstances concerning one of 
the principals that will have a direct bearing 
on it.” 


BLACK ESCAPES 


205 


“ Proceed,” said Mr. Freedman. 

Objections by Black’s counsel were over¬ 
ruled, and Wright began: 

“ A. T. Varnum, manager of the circus, 
sent me back here to find two lost monkeys, 
and also a man named Huggins, until re¬ 
cently animal trainer with the circus.” 

“ Why? ” asked Mr. Freedman. 

“ Mr. Varnum charges Huggins with 
stealing the monkeys.” 

“ If you please, Your Honor,” said At¬ 
torney Grabb, rising, “ that has nothing to 
do with the present case.” 

“ I agree,” said the judge. “ Mr. Wright, 
unless you have something to say concern¬ 
ing this particular case, we must dispense 
with your testimony.” 

“ Then, Your Honor,” said Wright, “ I 
must accuse Huggins of the thefts here in 
Wolverton. This is not the first time he 
has been mixed up in such a matter. Only 
four weeks ago, in Peoria, we missed Hug¬ 
gins, Mrs. Hookum, and her baby. If you 
will investigate you will learn that there 


206 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


were numerous petty thefts there after the 
circus left town. When I went back Hug¬ 
gins admitted he had put the monkeys up to 
stealing. He gave me back the loot, which 
I returned. He’s been at it again. That’s 
all, sir.” 

At this moment there was a commotion in 
the rear of the court-room. 

“ Stop him! ” shouted Attorney Freed¬ 
man, and rough hands were laid on Hug¬ 
gins as he attempted to leave his seat. 

“ But where is his connection with 
Black? ” whispered Joe to the lawyer. 

“ I don’t know,” was the attorney’s reply, 
“ but it must be there. I’ll have him back 
on the stand and find out if Black employed 
him, and why.” 

Again the judge gave his consent to the 
unusual procedure, for he had been im¬ 
pressed with Wright’s story. 

“ Huggins,” said Mr. Freedman, when 
the little man again took the stand, 44 where 
is the loot? ” 

“I’ve got it down in my room on Water 


BLACK ESCAPES 207 

Street, sir. I didn’t mean any harm. I was 
going to give it back, anyhow.” 

“ Did you ever see this young man be¬ 
fore? ” demanded the attorney, pointing to 
Joe. 

“ Yes, sir, once.” 

“ Where?” 

“ He was pointed out to me.” 

“ You mean when you were hired to make 
the charge against him? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Who hired you? ” 

Huggins cast a furtive eye around the 
court-room, but made no reply. 

“Who hired you?” demanded Mr. Freed¬ 
man again. “ Is the man in this room? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied Huggins sullenly. 

“ Point him out.” 

Again Huggins glanced furtively about. 

“ I—I guess I was wrong,” he mumbled. 
“ I don’t see him.” 

Suddenly Mr. Freedman wheeled about 
and pointed his finger at Black, who was 
now sitting far back in the court-room. 


208 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ Is that the man? ” he demanded in a 
loud voice. 

Huggins’ reply was very low. 

“ Yes, sir,” he replied. 

“ I thought so,” said Mr. Freedman, and 
turned to the judge. “ Your Honor,” he 
continued, “ I request the release of my 

clients at once, and- Hey! Stop that 

man! ” For Black had made a dash toward 
the door. 

A guard blocked his way, but Black 
hurled the man aside, passed out, and disap¬ 
peared. 

Instantly the court-room was in an up¬ 
roar. In vain the judge pounded for order. 

It was several minutes before the hubbub 
subsided and the judge could address the 
jury. 

“ You will return a verdict of not guilty,” 
he instructed. 

“ If it please Your Honor,” said the fore¬ 
man, getting to his feet, “ it was a not-guilty 
verdict upon which we had already agreed.” 

Joe and Mr. Hunter shook hands with 



BLACK ESCAPES 


209 


each of the jurors, and then, accompanied 
by Wright, the press agent, and Grant Bar¬ 
ton and Huggins they left the court. 

“ You’ll come home with me to dinner, 
Wright? ” asked Joe. 

“ If you wish. But first we’ll have Hug¬ 
gins take us to his room and give me the 
loot.” 

Huggins needed no urging, and half an 
hour later Wright turned the jewels over to 
the chief of police, who announced his will¬ 
ingness to let Wright have Mrs. Hookum 
and her baby whenever he wished. 

“ You’re pretty lucky, Joe,” said the 
chief. “ I was sure you were innocent, but 
the facts seemed dead against you.” 

“ Oh, I knew I’d come out all right, 
Chief,” was the lad’s reply. “ But how 
about Black? There’s a warrant out for 
him, you know. I’d like to have him ar¬ 
rested.” 

“ We’ll get him,” said the chief. “ He 
can’t have gone far in this time.” 

“ No, but he’s a pretty slippery customer. 


210 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


He’s likely to make more trouble if he isn’t 
caught.” 

“ Don’t worry. We’ll get him.” 

Wright took dinner with Joe and his 
uncle. Over the table he entertained them 
with many stories of the “ Big Top.” 

44 What about Huggins? ” asked Joe. 

44 Oh, he’ll find his way back to the circus 
in a week or two. He always does.” 

44 You mean Varnum will take him 
back? ” 

44 Sure. He’s done it often enough before. 
It seems that he and Huggins were boys 
together, and that counts for a good deal. 
Besides, Huggins is a good trainer.” 

44 Well,” said Joe, 44 you certainly arrived 
in time for us.” 

44 1 don’t know about that,” Mr. Hunter 
put in. 44 You remember the foreman said 
the jury had already decided on a not-guilty 
verdict.” 

44 Yes, but that was based on sentiment 
rather than the evidence.” 

44 I’m glad I was able to help, at all 


BLACK ESCAPES 


211 


events,” laughed Wright. “ And now I’ll 
have to be getting back to the hotel.” 

“ I’ll drive you down,” said Joe. 

From the hotel Joe went to The Argus 
office. 

“ Here’s the culprit,” laughed Grant 
Barton as the lad entered the local room. 

Joe ignored the levity. 

“ Any trace of Black yet? ” he demanded. 

Grant shook his head. 

“ Humph! ” said Joe. “Well, if the 
police haven’t located him by to-morrow, 
I’ll have to get on his trail myself.” 

“ Guess it will be your job, all right, Joe,” 
declared the city editor. “ It looks to me 
as though the police were not particularly 
interested.” 

“ Well, I am—very much so. If he is not 
arrested, there is no telling what he may do. 
He must be caught! ” 


CHAPTER XIX 


JOE TAKES THE TRAIL 

Two days passed before Joe again heard 
of Black. The information came from an 
entirely unexpected source. A prominent 
merchant stopped in on a business matter. 

“ By the way,” he remarked as he was 
about to leave, “ I guess your former man¬ 
aging editor must have landed a job in 
Toledo.” 

“ How’s that? ” Joe inquired. 

“ I ran into him on the street there yes¬ 
terday.” 

“ You don’t say so? Well, I shouldn’t be 
surprised. However, Mr. Black isn’t keep¬ 
ing me posted on his whereabouts.” 

When the merchant had gone, Joe hur¬ 
ried up-stairs to the local room, where he 
imparted the information to Grant Barton. 

“ What are you going to do about it? ” 
asked the city editor. 

212 


JOE TAKES THE TRAIL 213 


“ I’m going to Toledo again. This time 
I’ll try to have the Toledo authorities arrest 
Black and hold him until requisition papers 
can be obtained.” 

“ You’d better be careful,” Grant warned. 
“You know Black has it in for you, and by 
this time he is probably dangerous.” 

“I’m not going to tackle him single- 
handed if I can help it. I’ve more sense 
than that, Red.” 

“ I’ll tell you,” said Grant. “ Have 
Chief Harrigan give you a note to the chief 
of police in Toledo. Tell him to set forth 
the facts briefly. The Toledo police will 
hardly arrest Black merely on your say-so.” 

“ Good idea, Red. I’ll do it.” 

Chief Harrigan gave Joe the note with¬ 
out question. 

Arriving in Toledo the following morn¬ 
ing, Joe went at once to the Packer Auto¬ 
mobile Company, but Black had not been 
there. 

“ We’ll be glad to see him, though,” said 
the manager grimly. 


214 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

» 

“ I thought so,” Joe agreed. “ I’ll let 
you know if I find him.” 

From the Packer company he went to 
police headquarters. He was received pleas¬ 
antly by the chief, who read Chief Harri- 
gan’s letter carefully. 

“ We’ll give you what help we can,” he 
promised. “You have no idea where to 
locate him, of course? ” 

“ I think I’ll shadow the newspaper of¬ 
fices,” Joe replied. “ He may have landed 
a job in one of them.” 

“ All right. I’ll give you a card of iden¬ 
tification so that you may make yourself 
known to any member of the force in case 
you should need an officer in a hurry.” 

Thanking the chief for his kindness, Joe 
headed for the office of the nearest news¬ 
paper. Fifteen minutes later he stationed 
himself where he could watch the entrance 
to the building. 

His vigil proved fruitless. When dark¬ 
ness fell, Joe returned to his hotel. 

Early the next morning he took his stand 


JOE TAKES THE TRAIL 215 

across the street from the other afternoon 
paper’s office. There he remained the 
greater part of the day, but he saw nothing 
of Black. 

This left only the morning paper to check 
up on now, and Joe did not feel equal to 
starting his watch that night. Therefore he 
went to bqd early. 

It was about one o’clock the next after¬ 
noon when Joe took up his vigil across from 
the morning-newspaper office. He had not 
gone earlier because no man in the editorial 
department of a morning paper goes to 
work before that hour. Joe was prepared 
for an all-night stand, if necessary. 

This time the boy’s watch was rewarded. 
It was shortly after two o’clock when a 
familiar figure swung around the corner and 
approached the newspaper office. 

The man was Black. 

Joe drew hack out of sight and considered 
his course of action. 

Three plans presented themselves. He 
could follow Black into the office, denounce 


216 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


him, and call upon the others for assistance; 
he could immediately summon a policeman, 
show him the card given him by the chief, 
and have Black arrested, or he could wait 
until Black came out, trail him to the first 
policeman, and then have him taken into 
custody. 

He decided upon the latter course, for he 
did not feel the necessity of exposing Black 
before the man’s fellow-workers. 

It was almost an hour before Black 
emerged from the newspaper office. 

“ Now for a policeman,” said Joe. 

He followed Black at some distance, 
staying as far behind as he could and still 
keep his quarry in sight. In the meantime 
he kept his eyes open for a police officer. 

“ I’m bound to see a cop soon,” he told 
himself. “ I suppose Black has some sort 
of an assignment. All I’ve got to do is trail 
him until a policeman turns up.” 

But, as is often the case, a policeman is 
not always to be found when he is most 
wanted. 


JOE TAKES THE TRAIL 217 


Reaching Madison Street, Black turned 
and walked away from the business district. 
He walked rapidly for more than a dozen 
blocks, with Joe less than a square behind. 
Then he turned into a yard and mounted a 
short flight of steps, opened the door with 
his key, and entered. 

“ Well, I’ve got him located, anyhow,” 
thought Joe. “ Now if I can just find a 
cop.” 

He walked back toward the down-town 
section. A block and a half from Black’s 
house he caught his first sight of a blue- 
coat. He accosted the officer and gave him 
the chief’s card. The policeman scanned it 
quickly, and asked, “ What can I do for 
you, young fellow? ” 

Joe explained. 

“ In the next block, you say? ” questioned 
the policeman. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, it’s on my beat. Come ahead.” 

A woman answered Joe’s ring at the 
door-bell. 


218 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ We want to see Mr. Black,” said Joe 
politely. 

“ There is no one named Black here,” was 
the reply. 

“ You must be mistaken, madam,” re¬ 
sponded Joe. “ I saw him come in here.” 

The woman considered. 

“ I have only three roomers,” she said 
finally. “ Two of them have been here for 
years. The third came only a few days ago. 
His name is Williams.” 

“Will you describe him, please? ” said 
Joe. 

The woman did so. 

“ That’s our man, all right,” Joe told the 
policeman. 

“ You are positive? ” demanded the blue- 
coat. “We can’t afford to make any mis¬ 
take, you know.” 

“ I’m dead sure, Officer.” 

“ Then we’ll take a chance.” The officer 
addressed the landlady: “Have you any 
objection to our calling on this Mr. Wil¬ 
liams? ” 


JOE TAKES THE TRAIL 219 

“ Has he broken the law? ” asked the 
woman uneasily. 

“ Just the matter of a few forgeries, 
madam,” said Joe. 

“ Then I want you to take him away,” 
declared the woman. “ I don’t want that 
sort of people in my house.” 

“ Will you show us his room, please? ” 

The woman led the way inside and mo¬ 
tioned to the stairs. 

“ First room to the right on the second 
floor,” she directed. 

She remained at the foot of the steps 
while Joe and the policeman, whose name 
was Mulligan, ascended. 

Mulligan rapped sharply on the door. 

“ Who’s there? ” came a voice from inside 
that Joe recognized as Black’s. 

“ That’s Black, all right,” the lad whis¬ 
pered to the officer. 

“ Open the door, Williams,” demanded 
the policeman. 

“ Who’s there? ” called Black again. 

Joe lost his patience. 


220 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


44 It’s I, Black,—Joe Hunter,” he said. 

44 What do you want? ” demanded Black 
in reply 

44 There is an officer with me,” was Joe’s 
reply. 44 We want a few words with you, 
Black.” 

44 I’ve done nothing you can arrest me 
for,” came the answer. 

44 We’ll talk about that later,” declared 
Mulligan. 44 Open the door.” 

44 Not much,” said Black. 

44 If you don’t, I’ll break it down,” 
threatened the officer. 

Black laughed harshly. 

44 You can’t come in here without a war¬ 
rant,” he sneered. 44 You know that as well 
as I do, Officer.” 

Mulligan was losing his temper. 

44 If you don’t open that door, I’m going 
to break it down, warrant or no warrant,” 
he shouted. 

Again Black sneered. 

44 1 know my rights,” he said. 

For a moment Mulligan hesitated. Then 


JOE TAKES THE TRAIL 221 

he laid a hand on the knob and turned it, 
but the door was locked. 

“ Guess we’d better go and get a war¬ 
rant, hadn’t we? ” asked Joe. 

“ And let this bird get away in the mean¬ 
time? Not much. I wasn’t much interested 
in this case to start with, but I am now. I 
don’t like the sound of this man Black’s 
voice.” 

“ But he’s right. You have no right to 
break in without a warrant.” 

“ Don’t you think I know it? Neverthe¬ 
less, if he’s guilty, and you say he is, it 
won’t make any difference. If he were in¬ 
nocent, of course it would be different.” 

“ Well, you can count on me whatever 
you do,” Joe declared. 

“ I can handle him all right,” said the 
policeman, “ but I’ll give him one more 
chance. Hey, Black! ” 

44 What do you want now? ” 

“ Are you going to open that door?” 

“ I am not.” 

Mulligan stooped, and using his left 


222 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


shoulder as a battering ram, lurched for¬ 
ward. 

The door gave slightly, but the lock held. 

“Say! You outside!” came Black’s 
voice. 

“ Ha! Ready to open up, are you? ” 
shouted Mulligan. 

“ No,” said Black, and his voice had be¬ 
come more quiet. “ I just wanted to tell 
you that, under the law, a man’s home is his 
castle, and he has a right to protect it. If 
you try to open that door again, I’ll shoot.” 

“ Bluff! ” muttered Mulligan to Joe. 

“ Maybe not,” was the lad’s response. 
“ He’s desperate, and may do as he 
threatens.” 

“ Then you’d better stand out of the line 
of fire,” Mulligan warned. “ As for me, 
I’m going to open that door.” 

Again he stepped back, and then lurched 
forward. And for a second time the lock 
held. 

A moment later there was a muffled re¬ 
port and a bullet plowed through the door, 


JOE TAKES THE TRAIL 223 

narrowly missing Mulligan, who had 
stepped to one side. 

“ He means business, all right,” the of¬ 
ficer muttered. 

“ Maybe we’d better call for help,” said 
Joe. 

“ I’m a poor cop if I can’t handle this 
fellow,” declared Mulligan angrily. “You 
stand back. I’m going to have another try 
at the door.” 

Joe obeyed, and the policeman hurled 
himself forward for a third time. 

This time the lock gave way with a sharp 
snap, and Mulligan was precipitated into 
the room beyond. At the same moment 
there was another sharp report. 

Then Joe saw Black dart under Mulli¬ 
gan’s arm and rush for the door. 

Joe stepped forward to meet him. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE LAST OF BLACK 

“ Out of my way! ” snarled Black, as he 
struck at Joe with a heavy fist. 

Joe side-stepped the blow and sought to 
close with his antagonist, but Black evaded 
his outstretched arms and sped toward the 
steps. 

“ After him! ” shouted Mulligan, spring¬ 
ing forward. 

Black went down the stairs three at a 
time, and at the bottom almost upset the 
landlady. 

Flinging open the front door, he glanced 
into the street, then whirled suddenly and 
ran through the hall to the dining-room in 
the rear. He slammed the door shut, and 
his pursuers heard the bolt click as he 
snapped the lock. 

“Tricked!” said Joe. “What’s his 

224 


THE LAST OF BLACK 225 

game? Why didn’t he run out the front 
door? ” 

“ Give it up,” returned Mulligan as he 
tried the dining-room door. 

The fact was that when Black opened the 
front door he caught sight of another police¬ 
man, who stood almost directly in front of 
the house. Naturally Black thought the 
bluecoat was there for a reason, whereas the 
truth was that he just chanced to be saunter¬ 
ing past. Even as Black closed the door the 
officer sauntered on again. 

The landlady stood in the hall, wringing 
her hands and crying. 

“ I’m disgraced! ” she moaned. 

“Don’t worry; it isn’t your fault,” said 
Joe. 

Mulligan was still wrestling with the 
dining-room door. 

“ We’ll lose him if we’re not careful,” he 
exclaimed, and hurled his big frame against 
the barrier. 

Unlike the door up-stairs, this one yielded 
at the second attempt, but when Mulligan 


226 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


rushed into the dining-room it was vacant. 
With Joe at his heels the officer ran into the 
kitchen. 

The kitchen also was vacant, but through 
the open back door the pursuers caught 
sight of Black running through the yard to¬ 
ward an empty garage, which faced on an 
alley. 

“Halt, or I’ll fire!” shouted Mulligan, 
raising his revolver. 

Black made no reply, but only ran still 
faster. 

Mulligan lowered his revolver. 

“ I can’t shoot a man that way,” he mut¬ 
tered, and leaped down the steps and ran 
after the fugitive. 

Joe kept at his heels. 

Reaching the garage, Black darted in and 
pulled the door shut behind him. 

“ He can’t get out! ” cried the landlady, 
who had followed them. “ The alley door is 
padlocked.” 

Mulligan tried the door through which 
Black had disappeared. 


THE LAST OF BLACK 227 


“ Neither can we get in,” he grumbled. 
“ He’s locked this door.” 

“ We can starve him out,” suggested Joe. 

“ That’s a long job, youngster,” said 
Mulligan, scratching his head for an idea. 
“ Here,” he said at last, passing Joe his 
whistle, “ you go out in front and blow this 
until a couple more cops appear. Then we 
can break down the door.” 

There was no officer in sight when Joe 
reached the sidewalk, so he placed the whis¬ 
tle to his lips and blew several sharp blasts. 

Much to Joe’s surprise it was only a 
couple of minutes before two policemen ap¬ 
peared—one of them a sergeant. They 
stopped beside Joe, who still held the whis¬ 
tle. 

“ What’s the idea? ” demanded the first 
arrival. 

“Yes, what do you mean, blowing that 
whistle? ” chimed in the sergeant. 

“You’re needed,” said Joe. “Mulligan 
wants help.” 

“ Where is he? ” 



228 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Joe swung a hand toward the alley. 

“ Back there, guarding a fugitive.” 

Waiting to hear no more, the officers 
dashed around the house. 

“ What’s up, Mulligan? ” demanded the 
sergeant, as they reached the garage. 

“ Oh, hello, Sergeant, glad you’re here,” 
said Mulligan. “ You, too, Jerry. I’ve a 
two-legged rat in this garage here and can’t 
get him out.” 

“ What’s he done? ” 

“ I don’t know exactly. This young chap 
can explain.” 

Briefly Joe told his story, and exhibited 
the card given him by the chief of police. 

“ All right,” said the sergeant. “ We’ll 
get him. What’s your idea, Mulligan? ” 

“ Better give him a chance to come out 
peaceably first.” 

“ It won’t do any good,” ventured Joe. 

“ Maybe not, but we’ll give him a chance,” 
decided the sergeant. 

Joe grinned, but made no reply. 

“ Hey, Black! ” called Mulligan. 


THE LAST OF BLACK 229 


“ Well, what do you want this time? ” 
came the reply. 

“ Come out and give yourself up.’’ 

“ Not a chance! ” 

“ Then we’ll have to come and get you.” 

Black’s reply was a scornful laugh. 

“ We’ll break in the door,” said the ser¬ 
geant. 

Joe heard Black chuckle. 

“ Try it,” he called back. 

“ You might as well come out peaceably,” 
the sergeant continued. “ There are four of 
us here, and we’re bound to get you.” 

“ I don’t care if there are four hundred,” 
replied Black defiantly. “ The first man 
who comes through that door gets shot.” 

“Don’t be a fool!” retorted Mulligan 
angrily. “ You don’t think you can defy 
the whole force, do you? Come on, now, 
open up.” 

“ Never! ” 

“No use wasting more time,” decided the 
sergeant. “ Let’s go and get him.” 

Mulligan tightened his helmet. 


230 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ Stand back a bit while I try the door,” 
he said. 

He stepped back a few paces, then 
sprang forward. Under the impact of his 
powerful shoulder the door cracked, but the 
bolt held. 

“ It’ll take more than that,” Mulligan ad¬ 
mitted. 

The sergeant looked around. Leaning 
against the house was a long ladder. 

“ Here, Mulligan,” he called. “ You and 
Jerry take hold of this. It will make a fine 
battering-ram. Or wait a minute. You 
and I can handle this, Mulligan. Jerry, 
you stand by with your gun, but don’t shoot 
unless you have to.” 

“ All right, Sergeant.” 

“ Don’t let him get away, Jerry,” cau¬ 
tioned Mulligan. 

The third officer opened his holster and 
produced a revolver. 

Then Mulligan and the sergeant drove 
the heavy ladder against the garage door. 

The door shivered under the first impact. 


THE LAST OF BLACK 231 


A second later Black fired through the 
splintered wood, but the bullet went wide. 

Under the second impact of the impro¬ 
vised battering-ram, the door flew back. 

Black fired again, and the bullet hummed 
by Mulligan’s head. Taking no thought of 
their danger, the men rushed Black. Mul¬ 
ligan hurled himself forward and seized him 
by the legs. 

Black’s revolver went flying across the 
garage. Thus deprived of his weapon 
Black lay perfectly still. 

“ I give up,” he finally muttered. 

“ You’d have been better off if you had 
given up before,” said the sergeant as he 
dragged the prisoner to his feet. 

Black made no reply to the sergeant, but 
turned a scowling face upon Joe. 

“ I’ll get you for this, you little whipper- 
snapper,” he growled. “ You just wait and 
see if I don’t.” 

Joe grinned. 

“ I’m afraid I haven’t time,” he said. 

“ Right you are, youngster,” commented 


232 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


the sergeant. “ This little job will put him 

away for quite a while.” 

The landlady, now that the excitement 

was all over at last, poked her head out the 
door. 

“ Do you want your suit-case? ” she 
called to Black. 

“ Not right now,” was Mulligan’s grim 
response. “ He can send a bell-boy after it 
when the time comes.” 

Jerry was dispatched by the sergeant to 
call the patrol-wagon, which arrived ten 
minutes later. Black was loaded in, with 
Mulligan and the sergeant on guard, and 
Joe an interested passenger. 

“ Well, I see you got your man,” said 
the chief of police to Joe when Black and 
the others stood before him. 

“Yes, sir, but not without trouble,” re¬ 
plied Joe. “ Mulligan here deserves a lot 
of credit for the way he managed the arrest, 
although the other officers helped, of 
course.” 

“ Now I suppose you want us to take 


THE LAST OF BLACK 233 

charge of him until the necessary requisition 
papers can be obtained? ” asked the chief. 

“ I’ve been thinking about that,” said 
Joe. “ I’m not anxious to take him back if 
he can be properly punished here.” 

“ But he can’t,” said the chief. “ The 
forgeries were committed in another State.” 

“ Yes, but he can be held on a charge here 
as a result of his actions to-day, can’t he? 
Resisting arrest, carrying concealed weap¬ 
ons, attempts to kill, and such are pretty 
serious matters, aren’t they, Chief? ” 

“ You’re right, youngster,” declared the 
chief. “Yes, I guess we have enough on 
him to put him away for a few years.” 

“ Then I guess that’s enough,” declared 
Joe. “ What do you say, Black? ” 

“ One year or ten, it’s all the same to me,” 
was Black’s response. “ But don’t forget 
that when I do get out I’m going to get 
even with you.” 

“ I guess I’ll be able to take care of my¬ 
self,” replied Joe. 

“ I guess Mulligan is ready to make the 


234 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


necessary charges against Black,” put in the 
chief. 

“ I sure am, Chief,” said Mulligan grimly. 
“ He almost shot me a couple of times.” 

After some further conversation Joe took 
his leave, gathered up his things at the hotel, 
and took the interurban for Wolverton. 

It was several weeks later when word 
reached him that Black had been tried, 
found guilty, and sentenced to the peni¬ 
tentiary for two years. 

“ So I guess he’ll bother us no more,” the 
lad remarked to Red Barton. 

“ Don’t be too sure,” was Barton’s reply. 
“ Two years will soon pass.” 

“ Maybe so, but it’s too far away to 
worry about,” said Joe, and picked up his 
hat and went home to dinner. 

“ Now that Black is off my mind,” he 
told his mother over the dinner table, “ I’ll 
have time to think up new ways of improv¬ 
ing The Argus. I believe I’ll offer prizes 
for new ideas.” 

Which he did. 


CHAPTER XXI 


BETTER BUSINESS 

Developing The Argus soon became a 
most interesting game. Hardly a day 
passed that some one did not offer a sugges¬ 
tion. Only a few had real merit, and these 
were adopted, much to the gratification of 
those who received the prizes. The contest 
also greatly increased the esprit de corps of 
the staff. 

Grant Barton’s suggestion was more pic¬ 
tures. 

“ I don’t believe we print enough,” he told 
Joe. 

“ When did you evolve that wonderful 
idea? ” Joe asked. 

“ It’s been dawning for some time.” 

“ Same here, Red. If the movies can get 
rich off pictures, why not the newspapers? ” 

“ They can. I’ll go a step farther and 
say some do.” 


235 


236 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ I’m sure of it.” 

“ Then why not print more? ” 

“We haven’t the facilities, as you well 
know. Like many other small papers, The 
Argus needs its own engraving plant.” 

“ But even so, we could print more,” de¬ 
clared Barton. 

“ Well, Red,” said Joe, “ the fact is that 
Uncle Simon thinks we print plenty of art 
as it is. 

Barton scratched his head thoughtfully. 

“ Joe,” he said finally, “ I don’t like to 
criticize the boss of the concern, but, just 
between you and me, Uncle Simon is a back 
number.” 

“ Well, Red,” laughed Joe, “ Uncle Si¬ 
mon will agree with you there. He says 
you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” 

“Nonsense! A man is never too old to 
learn.” 

“ That’s what I told him, and he simply 
shook his head. But, Red, I’ve an idea I 
can change him. Now, about more pictures. 
You know the Etchem engraving plant? ” 


BETTER BUSINESS 


237 

“ You mean that new concern over on 
Plum Street? Yes, I’ve given them some 
of our extra work. What about it? ” 

“ The plant’s for sale.” 

“ Wonder why? ” questioned the city ed¬ 
itor. “ They’ve been in business less than 
a year.” 

“ It’s a long story, Red. First, Street, 
the practical man of the company, had a 
spell of sickness and was obliged to go away 
for several months. A couple of weeks ago 
young Etchem’s grandmother, who owned 
two or three big business blocks in Chicago, 
died and left him all her money.” 

“ So he doesn’t have to work,” Barton in¬ 
terrupted. 

“ Exactly. He put all the money in the 
business in the first place, and now he wants 
to sell out.” 

“ What’s the plant worth? ” 

“ Well, it isn’t worth a whole lot, and 
that’s a fact. It’s small, as you know. 
Maybe it’s worth five thousand dollars, but 
he’s offered to sell it to Slater, who is in 


288 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


charge there now, for thirty-five hun¬ 
dred. Slater would like to buy it, but 
Etchem wants a thousand dollars down, and 
Slater hasn’t got it.” 

“ Who told you all this? ” 

“ Clark. He’s been carrying some adver¬ 
tising for the Etchem company, and when 
he was in to-day, Slater told him.” 

There was a moment’s silence, then Joe 
continued: “ I’m going to buy the place my¬ 
self, if I can make the deal.” 

“ Good for you. Have you got the 
money? ” 

“Not quite; but I believe I can get it. 
You see, I’ve been getting pretty well ac¬ 
quainted with our bank directors since that 
affair with Black, and they seem to think I 
have business sense.” 

“ Which you have,” Barton put in. 

“Anyway,” Joe laughed, “ our balance is 
considerably bigger than it was when I took 
hold. We are easily in shape to pay 
Etchem a thousand dollars down, and the 
bank has agreed to let me have the addi- 


BETTER BUSINESS 


239 


tional twenty-five hundred, so I can pay all 
cash. I’m to see Etchem in the morning, 
and I expect he will knock off another three 
hundred for cash. If he does, I shall have 
a five-thousand-dollar plant for thirty-two 
hundred. I feel certain I can induce Uncle 
Simon to agree to the plan.” 

“ Looks good to me,” declared Barton, 
“ but just what is your plan regarding The 
Argus? ” 

“I’d furnish the cuts to The Argus at 
cost. The regular commercial work would 
be done at standard prices. Because we 
would keep the plant busy, we could have 
a proper working force and would always 
be ready to turn out work promptly, which 
is a big item.” 

“ It certainly is,” the city editor agreed. 

“ In addition,” Joe went on, “ The Argus 
advertising solicitors would be able to drum 
up a little business for the engraving plant, 
and space in The Argus isn’t so valuable 
that we couldn’t afford to do some advertis¬ 
ing for ourselves.” 


240 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ I think that is a clever idea! ” declared 
Barton. 

“ I don’t know whether you’d call it busi¬ 
ness or not,” said Joe, “ but to me it looks 
like common sense.” 

“ In my brief career,” declared Barton, 
“ I’ve learned that common sense is always 
good business.” 

The following morning Joe saw Etchem 
and found that young man more than ready 
to accept thirty-two hundred dollars cash. 

“I’ve plenty of money now,” he said air¬ 
ily, “ so why should I worry with this little 
plant? ” 

Joe didn’t think it necessarv to tell him 

•/ 

that the large estate left him by his grand¬ 
mother probably started from a very small 
beginning. He thought it, however, and he 
determined that this little engraving plant 
should some day grow into something much 
larger. 

Having settled things with Etchem, Joe 
approached his uncle on the subject. Mr. 
Hunter listened while Joe unfolded his plan. 


BETTER BUSINESS 


241 


and then demanded with a laugh: “ What 
do you want of me? ” 

“ Simply your consent to go ahead.” 

“ Do you think I am going to give it? ” 
and his uncle regarded him quizzically. 

For just a moment Joe hesitated. His 
first thought was to say that he hoped so, 
but instead he declared, “ I am sure of it, 
sir.” 

“ Oh, you are? ” exclaimed Mr. Hunter. 
“ Then why didn’t you go ahead? ” 

“ That wouldn’t have been very courte¬ 
ous, sir. I submit other matters for your 
approval, although I have no doubt of ob¬ 
taining it.” 

Mr. Hunter laughed. 

“ Joe,” he said, “ you shouldn’t be in the 
newspaper business. You ought to be a 
diplomat.” 

“ I hope to be some day, sir.” 

“ You what? ” 

“ I said I hope to be, sir,” repeated Joe 
with a smile. “ I expect to make this news¬ 
paper a stepping-stone to something better.” 


242 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“After all, why not? ” Mr. Hunter 
agreed. “ President Harding was a coun¬ 
try newspaper man.” Then more seriously: 
“ But about this engraving plant. Have 
you looked into its earnings? ” 

“ Yes, sir. They have been comparatively 
small. That’s because no one seems to have 
been greatly interested since Mr. Street was 
taken ill. As a matter of fact, I don’t be¬ 
lieve there was much real work done before. 
I’m beginning to learn, sir, that the only 
way to spell success is w-o-r-k.” 

“You are right there, nephew. But 
who’s going to do the work if you buy the 
plant? ” 

“ I am, for one. I shall keep Slater be¬ 
cause he is a good man and turns out good 
work. Then, too, every employee of The 
Argus is a potential business-getter for the 
engraving plant.” 

“You don’t expect reporters to take 
orders for photo-engraving, do you? ” 

“ No, sir. But I expect to have pictures 
enough—and good ones—in The Argus to 


BETTER BUSINESS 243 

attract attention. And whenever the occa¬ 
sion offers I shall expect the men on the 
street to mention that we would be glad to 
make the same grade of cuts for commercial 
houses.” 

Simon Hunter was silent for several min¬ 
utes, while he gave his nephew a searching 
glance. 

“ You certainly have ideas,” he said at 
last, “ and I guess you deserve the oppor¬ 
tunity of trying them out. If you want to 
buy this engraving plant, why go ahead.” 

Joe expressed his thanks and started to 
leave the office, but Mr. Hunter stayed 
him. 

“ I suppose your mother has told you 
about those copper mines in Arizona in 
which your father invested? ” he asked. 

“ Oh, yes,” Joe grinned. “ She is always 
bewailing that lost money.” 

“ Well, it has seemed a bad investment,” 
Mr. Hunter replied; “ but in the past week 
I have received a couple of letters,—one 
from a friend who is touring down there,— 


244 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


and both tell me the mines are being worked 
and seem to be paying.” 

“ That’s good, sir. I hope we get our 
money back.” 

“ I am going to try, Joe. If I could get 
even fifty cents on the dollar, it would 
amount to five thousand dollars, and that 
would put you through college.” 

“ That certainly would be a piece of luck, 
sir,” Joe declared. 

“ So, if you think you can get along with¬ 
out me for a couple of weeks,” Mr. Hunter 
continued, “ I think I’ll run down and look 
things over. It will be my vacation.” 

“ Of course we can get along, Uncle. 
When do you want to go? ” 

“ Next week.” 

“All right. Go ahead. The Argus 
won’t founder while you’re away, sir.” 

“You must remember you will have the 
engraving plant to look after, too, nephew.” 

“ Sure; but I’ve plenty of work laid out 
for that.” 


“You have, eh? ” 


BETTER BUSINESS 245 

“ Yes. You know that week after next is 
‘ Old Home Week.’ ” 

“ That’s so,” said Mr. Hunter. “ Per¬ 
haps I’d better not leave town until later, 
then.” 

“Not unless you want to meet your old 
cronies,” Joe laughed. 

“ Well, I’d like to. But I don’t think the 
Arizona matter should wait.” 

“ Whatever you decide, sir. But about 
the work I had in mind: I thought we could 
run an illustrated section each day, with pic¬ 
tures of every ‘ old-homer ’ we could get in 
touch with.” 

“ Good idea,” was Mr. Hunter’s com¬ 
ment. 

“ That will keep the engraving plant busy 
until j^ou get back, sir. By that time we’ll 
have something else to do.” 

“All right, Joe. If you keep up your rec¬ 
ord, first thing you know the paper will 
need you so badly you won’t be able to go 
to college.” 

“ I’m not worrying about that,” laughed 


246 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Joe. “ Nobody was ever so good that some 
one couldn’t be found to take his place.” 

“ You’ve an old head on young shoulders, 
my boy. I guess what you need is more ad¬ 
vice like Mr. Cady gave you. Don’t overdo 
the thing. All work and no play makes 
Jack a dull boy.” 

Joe laughed. 

“ Haven’t you found out yet, Uncle Si¬ 
mon,” he asked, “ that work you like is 
play? ” 


CHAPTER XXII 


OLD HOME WEEK 

Simon Hunter had been in Arizona 
nearly a week when Grant Barton dropped 
into Joe’s office one day. 

“ Hello, Red! ” Joe greeted him. “ I was 
just thinking of going up to see you. Sit 
down.” 

Grant took a chair. 

“ What have you got on your mind? ” 
asked Joe. 

“A whole lot,” and the city editor smiled. 

“ Well, let’s hear it, Red.” 

Barton took off his eye-glasses and pol¬ 
ished them on his handkerchief. 

“ Say, Joe, how much nerve have you 
got? ” he asked finally. 

Joe straightened up in his chair. 

“ Plenty,” he replied. “ Why? ” 

“ Have you got enough nerve to get out 

247 


248 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


an afternoon edition of The Argus during 
Old Home Week? ” 

“ Wha-a-at! ” exclaimed Joe. 

Grant repeated his question. 

“ Well, say, now,” said Joe, as a smile 
gradually spread over his face, “ hoAV did 
you come to think of that? ” 

“ How could I help thinking about it? 
It’s been on my mind ever since you took 
over the Etchem engraving plant. But 
what I want to know is, have you the nerve 
to do it? ” 

“ The nerve, Red? Say! I don’t believe 
I’d have the nerve not to do it! ” 

“ That’s just the way I thought you’d 

feel,” declared Barton. “ Have you-” 

“ I haven’t done anything but think about 
it. How about you? ” 

“ Well, I’ve worked out a few details.” 
“ The thing that has worried me,” said 
Joe, “ and I have thought about it before 
you suggested it just now, is where to get 
the help.” 

“ You mean the working force? ” 



OLD HOME WEEK 


249 


“ Exactly. I don’t know where we could 
pick up more than one good reporter right 
now, and pressmen and printers are said to 
be scarce.” 

Grant grinned broadly. 

“ You show me that one good reporter,” 
he said, “ and I’ll guarantee you a working 
force.” 

“You mean so far as the local staff is 
concerned. How about the mechanical 
end? ” 

“ Oh, Andy will take care of that.” 

Joe’s face changed rapidly as various 
thoughts flashed through his mind. His ex¬ 
pression went from puzzled to pleased and 
then to real satisfaction. 

“ Maybe,” he said slowly, “ maybe you 
have made inquiries already.” 

“As a matter of fact, I have,” the city ed¬ 
itor admitted. “ I’ve sounded practically 
every man who has anything to do with get¬ 
ting out The Argus, and every one has 
agreed to do whatever additional work is 
necessary. And, so far as the editorial end 


250 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


is concerned, we’d be glad to do it without 
pay.” 

“ I couldn’t permit that,” declared Joe. 

“No, I didn’t think you would. But I’m 
just telling you this to show you where the 
men stand.” 

Joe’s face flushed, for he was greatly 
moved. This offer of the employees was 
such an expression of friendship and loyalty 
that almost any one would have been 
touched—even a much less impulsive boy 
than Joe Hunter. 

“ I—I certainly appreciate that, Grant,” 
he managed to say finally. 

“ Then the matter is settled, is it? ” asked 
Barton, giving Joe no opportunity to say 
more. 

“ Looks that way, doesn’t it, Red? And 
since you seem to have done all the prelimi¬ 
nary work, you might as well be the one to 
tell the men about it. Better get in touch 
with Andy in the composing-room at once, 
and also let the press-room know what is 



OLD HOME WEEK 


251 


“All right, Joe.” 

“ In the meantime,” Joe went on, “ I’ll 
get busy on my end. I’d be glad if you’d 
give me a written memorandum of whatever 
details you have worked out. I’ll call a con¬ 
ference of the heads of the departments 
some time to-morrow.” 

After Barton had gone, Joe sat for a mo¬ 
ment in deep thought. Here was the op¬ 
portunity he had been waiting for to try 
out the afternoon-newspaper idea, without 
committing himself to any permanent un¬ 
dertaking. It would give him a chance 
without stirring up The Star, which he rec¬ 
ognized as a live competitor. 

“ I wonder how Mr. Cady will like it,” 
he thought. Then, after a moment, “ I be¬ 
lieve he’ll think well of the plan.” 

When the conference of executives was 
held in Joe’s office the following day, Joe 
had, with the assistance of the memorandum 
furnished by Barton, worked out a plan, 
which he explained. 

“ The beauty of this project,” he said, 


252 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ is that we are not supposed to make any 
money out of it. It’s just plain advertis¬ 
ing, and we can do about as we please.” 

“At that, I don’t expect you will object 
to some additional advertising,” put in Mr. 
Clark. 

“The more the better,” laughed Joe. 
“ But we only have to get out one edition, 
and we can do it at any hour we choose. In 
fact, we can get it out one hour one day 
and another the next. By this means we 
can find out what is the best hour for a one- 
edition afternoon paper.” 

“ You understand,” said Grant, “ we have 
no afternoon Associated Press franchise, so 
this will have to be a purely local paper, 
made up from city and suburban news? ” 

“ Local and features,” Joe agreed. 

“ There’ll be plenty of local news during 
Old Home Week,” declared Andy Mc¬ 
Hugh. “ My only trouble will be that some 
of my printers may become a little too so¬ 
ciable with the visitors.” 

“ That might have been true some years 


OLD HOME WEEK 


253 

ago, Andy,” said Mr. Clark, “ but few 
printers are troubled that way now.” 

“ None of our regular men,” McHugh 
hastened to explain, “ but we shall have to 
depend upon some tourists.” 

“ How about the newsboys? ” asked Joe. 

“ You know the newsboy,” said the circu¬ 
lation manager. “ The more papers he has 
to sell, the better. The only trouble we may 
have will be keeping the boys from asking 
more than the price of the paper.” 

“ Yes, I know,” replied Joe. “ But each 
boy must be made to understand that this is 
not a graft. It will be a good time to im¬ 
press upon them the fact that honesty is the 
best policy; you might tell them, too, that it 
is the only business policy. Dishonesty 
isn’t business at all.” 

The following Monday afternoon the in¬ 
habitants of Wolverton were startled to 
hear the newsboys crying: “ Paper! Here’s 
your afternoon Argus! All about the old 
home folks! ” 

The afternoon edition of The Argus was 


254 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


a tabloid, that is to say, a paper folded to 
half the size of an ordinary newspaper. It 
was filled with pictures and short items 
about home people and things. 

It contained anecdotes about well-known 
citizens when they were younger, and 
sketches telling of their successes in life. It 
recalled important events of previous years, 
and presented side by side pictures of places 
as they looked twenty years ago and as they 
were to-day. 

It told of changes in the personnel of 
many well-known business firms, and of 
what had happened to many of the town’s 
once prominent citizens who had left Wol- 
verton. 

En short, the afternoon edition of The 
Argus was composed exclusively of local 
news, but the account of the doings of for¬ 
mer local citizens in so many parts of the 
world made it seem to the reader that he was 
getting news from everywhere—and getting 
it through men and women he knew. 

The paper sold by the thousands. 



OLD HOME WEEK 


255 


Naturally it had no home circulation—no 
regular subscribers of any sort. All sales, 
therefore, were street sales. Nevertheless 
the sales of the first three days were fully 
equal to the circulation of the regular morn¬ 
ing edition. Moreover, the street sales of 
The Argus were more than double those of 
The Star. 

Joe was both gratified and astonished, for 
the paper was going bigger than he had 
dreamed was possible. He was in the office 
early and late, dividing his time between the 
various departments. 

The third day he spent on the street, 
watching the newsboys. 

“ How are they going? ” he asked of one 
little urchin whom he knew. 

“Great, Mr. Joe!” was the reply. 
“ Why don’t you keep it up all the time? 
This is the kind of a paper people want.” 

“Are you sure, Jack? ” 

“ You bet I am! They all say so.” 

Everywhere he went Joe got the same 
story. 


256 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


That evening he reported the result of 
his investigation to Grant Barton. 

“ It’s just what you and I expected, isn’t 
it? ” asked the city editor. 

“ Well, yes.” 

“ And what’s the answer? ” 

“ The answer,” declared Joe grimly, “ is 
that if the people of Wolverton want this 
kind of a paper, they are going to get it. 
Uncle Simon simply will have to agree! ” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


TAKING CHANCES 

Simon Hunter was expected home Sun¬ 
day evening. 

Saturday night Joe remained at the office 
until nearly midnight, balancing his ac¬ 
counts so that he could show exactly the re¬ 
sults of The Argus adventure into the after¬ 
noon field. 

The figures were most satisfactory. 

While it had, at first, been Joe’s intention 
to limit the tabloid—which, as has been said, 
was just half the size of the daily and con¬ 
sisted of four columns to the page—to eight 
pages, this plan had not proved practicable. 
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday it had 
been necessary to go to twelve pages to 
make room for advertising without sacrific¬ 
ing news space, while the Thursday and Fri¬ 
day issues consisted of fourteen pages. The 
Saturday paper also was a twelve-page one. 

257 



258 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


Joe’s report sheet for the six days of Old 
Home Week resulted like this: 


Days News Circulation Advertising Receipts 


Monday . 28 cols 12,000 20 cols $420 

Tuesday . 26 “ 14,500 22 “ 470 

Wednesday .26 “ 18,000 22 “ 510 

Thursday . 26 “ 20,000 30 “ 650 

Friday . 27 “ 20,000 29 “ 640 

Saturday. 28 “ 19,000 20 “ 490 


Totals .161 “ 103,500 143 “ $3,180 


These figures were based on the sale of 
the paper at two cents a copy,—of which the 
newsboy received one,—and on advertising 
at fifteen dollars a column. Joe was certain 
that, should he be allowed to continue the 
afternoon tabloid, he could easily increase 
his advertising rates if the circulation could 
be kept up to twenty thousand. 

The cost of getting out the six editions 
during Old Home Week, he figured, had 
been approximately fourteen hundred dol¬ 
lars, which gave him a net profit of seven¬ 
teen hundred and eighty dollars. 

The only question in Joe’s mind was 
whether he could keep the circulation above 
ten thousand another week. He knew per- 













TAKING CHANCES 259 

fectly well that Old Home Week visitors 
and the unusual interest in home affairs had 
been largely responsible for the success of 
the afternoon edition. 

He knew that these factors were not per¬ 
manent. The question was how many regu¬ 
lar subscribers he could get. 

“ Well,” he said as he closed his books, 
“I’ve got something to show Uncle Simon 
when he gets home to-morrow.” 

With his mind filled with figures and 
arguments he went home and to bed, where 
he dreamed he was the owner of a great 
newspaper in a city so large he couldn’t esti¬ 
mate its size, and was unable to print news¬ 
papers fast enough, so great was the de¬ 
mand ; that the newsboys clamored so loudly 
for papers that the police had to be called, 
and even then they continued to shout and 
pound on the doors. 

The dream-pounding finally aroused Joe 
to the fact that some one was knocking on 
the front door. 

He sat up in bed and listened. The 


260 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

pounding continued, and he slipped from 
bed, crossed to the window, and poked his 
head out. 

“What’s the matter?” he called. 

“ Special-delivery letter,” a voice an¬ 
swered. 

“ Great Scott! Couldn’t it wait until 
morning? ” 

“ Dunno. Man at the office said to bring 
it out here. Your door-bell must be out of 
order.” 

Joe slipped down to the front door and 
took the letter. 

“ What is it? ” called his mother, who also 
had been awakened by the pounding. 

Joe stopped under the hall light to read. 

“ It’s from Uncle Simon,” he said. 
“ He says he will not be home for a week or 
ten days more. He’s going over into Mex¬ 
ico to see some copper mines.” 

“ I hope he’ll have a nice trip,” was Mrs. 
Hunter’s comment, as she returned to bed. 

But Joe’s thoughts were of a different 
nature. 


TAKING CHANCES 


261 


“Pshaw! That means no afternoon pa¬ 
per next week,” he said disgustedly. “ I 
was sure I could talk Uncle Simon into it.” 

But the lad was wrong. 

No matter how one may plan, circum¬ 
stances frequently arise that mean the alter¬ 
ing of such plans. The successful business 
man is the one who is able quickly to adapt 
himself to the changed circumstances and 
turn them to his advantage. 

That is what happened to Joe Hunter. 

Sunday morning he went to church with 
his mother, seemingly as content as though 
his dearest project had not suddenly re¬ 
ceived a death blow. He determined that 
what could not be cured must be endured, 
and he listened to the sermon with interest. 

In the afternoon he rested, and in the 
evening he ran out his car and called for 
Hattie Cady. They had a pleasant ride, and 
when he took Hattie home Mr. Cady com¬ 
plimented him on his venture during Old 
Home Week. 

“ You gave me a few ideas, young man,” 


262 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


laughed the publisher, “ and I shall make 
arrangements to put them into effect.” 

Joe’s heart sank. It was what he had 
feared. 

He was somewhat comforted, however, 
when Hattie remarked to her father: 
“ Why, Dad, you wouldn’t steal Joe’s ideas, 
would you? ” 

“ I wouldn’t call it stealing,” was the re¬ 
ply. “ If some one makes public a good 
thing, I take it that any one is at liberty to 
use it. That’s what we call competition, 
isn’t it, Joe? ” 

“ It certainly is, Mr. Cady. The ideas in 
The Argus were not all original with me. I 
do think, however, that I am entitled to 
claim some of them. So is Grant Barton. 
He is chock-full of ideas.” 

“ Well, whoever originated them, they 
were all right. I shall instruct my editorial 
force to get busy.” 

“ Suppose Joe uses some of your ideas, 
Dad? ” asked Hattie. 

“ I shall not object,” laughed her father. 


TAKING CHANCES 


263 


“ Suppose I should decide to get out an 
afternoon paper regularly?” said Joe. 
“ How about that, Mr. Cady? ” 

Mr. Cady looked surprised. He started 
to ask a question, but checked himself and 
replied: “ If you think you can make a suc¬ 
cess, why go to it! I’ll try to make it 
interesting for you.” 

They all laughed as though this were a 
great joke, but Joe kept his own counsel. 

“ It’s too bad, though,” he muttered as 
he drove away a little later, “ that I couldn’t 
give it a trial. However, the time will come 
later.” 

On his way home he stopped at The Ar¬ 
gus office. 

“Anything doing? ” he asked Grant. 

"Not much to-night,” was the city ed¬ 
itor’s response, “ but there is a big story 
brewing.” 

“ Yes? \¥hat is it?” 

“ Well, I’ve got a straight tip that there 
is a big shortage in the city treasury.” 

“ What? Defalcation? ” 


264 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ Looks that way.” 

“ Have you seen Floorshiem? ” 

Floorshiem was the city treasurer. 

“ I’ve tried to,” said Barton, “ but I 
haven’t been able to locate him, and that 
adds to the strength of the tip.” 

“ I hope it isn’t so,” declared Joe. “ It 
would give Wolverton rather a bad name.” 

“ Possibly,” laughed Red, “ but it would 
give Floorshiem a worse one. However, 
there may be nothing to it, although I’m 
bound to confess it looks suspicious.” 

“ Well, if it’s true, we’ve got to find out 
all about it.” 

“ I’m doing my best, Joe.” 

It was, therefore, with considerable curi¬ 
osity that Joe opened The Argus at the 
breakfast table the following morning, and 
he was well pleased to find in it no corrob¬ 
oration of Grant’s tip. 

He mentioned the matter to his mother 
with the remark that “ for once Grant’s tip 
was wrong.” 

“ I hope so,” declared Mrs. Hunter. 


TAKING CHANCES 


265 


“ However, if it were true, it would hardly 
develop on Sunday.” 

“ That’s so, Mother,” Joe agreed. 
“ Well, if there is anything to it, we’ll find 
out to-day.” 

On the way to the office Joe was not in a 
very happy frame of mind. He was griev¬ 
ing more than he would have cared to tell 
any one over the fact that the afternoon edi¬ 
tion of The Argus , which had made such a 
good showing the week before, was not to 
be continued. 

As he approached the city hall he noticed 
a group of police officers, and stopped to 
learn the cause of the gathering. 

“ What’s the matter? ” he asked of the 
first bluecoat he approached. 

The officer was a man Joe did not know, 
and he gave the lad a stony stare. 

“All right,” laughed Joe, " I’ll ask the 
sergeant,” and he passed on a few steps. 
“ Hello, Duffield,” he greeted the sergeant. 
“ What’s the matter here? ” 

The sergeant looked up in surprise. 


266 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

“ Oh, hello, Joe,” he said. “ Looks like 
this might be a pretty big story for you.” 

“ What’s it all about? ” questioned Joe. 

“ They’ve sent for Floorshiem, but he 
hasn’t been found yet,” said the sergeant. 

“ Why? ” Joe queried quickly, as Bar¬ 
ton’s tip of the night before flashed through 
his mind. 

Sergeant Duflield took him by the arm. 

“ Come in and I’ll show you,” he said. 

He led the way to the office of the city 
treasurer, where a strange sight met Joe’s 
eyes. 

Through the cracks of the door which 
opened into the big vault, tiny wreaths of 
smoke were trickling. The cause was plain. 
The smoke meant there was fire inside the 
vault. 

Even as he looked he heard an automo¬ 
bile stop outside, and presently the mayor 
of Wolverton entered. He understood the 
situation in a flash, and asked, “ Can’t you 
find Floorshiem? ” 

“We haven’t been able to so far, sir,” re- 


TAKING CHANCES 267 

plied the sergeant. 44 His wife says he 
wasn’t home last night.” 

44 Break into his private office! ” ordered 
the mayor. 

It took less than five minutes to obey 
these instructions. 

There, on the long, leather-covered office 
couch, lay the body of the city treasurer. 
One glance at his face showed that life was 
extinct. A revolver lay on the floor beside 
him. 

As the mayor and the others turned, 
Floorshiem’s assistant dashed in. He gave 
one look at the body on the couch, and would 
have fallen had not Duffield caught him. 
He recovered in a few minutes, and, at the 
request of the mayor, opened the smoking 
vault. 

As the door swung open a cloud of smoke 
poured out and a burst of flame followed. 
Two firemen, who had been waiting, rushed 
in to extinguish the fire. 

It was only a few minutes before the ex¬ 
tent of the damage was seen. There, on 


268 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


the floor of the vault, were piled several 
partially burned ledgers, while the ashes of 
burnt checks and warrants lay scattered all 
about. 

It was very evident what had happened. 

Floorshiem had piled all evidence of his 
guilt on the floor of the vault, set fire to 
them, and closed and locked the door. Then 
he had gone into his private office and com¬ 
mitted the deed of a coward and a criminal. 

Ten minutes later Grant Barton was 
awakened by a telephone call. 

44 What is it? ” he asked sleepily when he 
reached the ’phone. 

In as few words as possible Joe told him. 

“And this,” he added, “ is where the after¬ 
noon edition of The Argus becomes a per¬ 
manent thing! ” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


COMPETITION 

Less than three hours later The Argus 
was on the street. It was not an extra edi¬ 
tion of the morning paper, but came out as 
The Evening Argus . 

The Star had beaten it, however, with an 
extra, issued within an hour after the crime 
had been discovered; but The Star had no 
such story as the one Red Barton himself 
wrote for The Argus , for all the facts he 
had gathered the night before, but had been 
unable to use, were in The Argus story. 

It was not until the day was almost over 
that Mr. Cady had an opportunity of look¬ 
ing over the papers. Among those he found 
on his desk was The Evening Argus. 

“ So! ” he exclaimed. “ Joe has actually 
taken me at my word. Very well. I’ll give 
the young man a chance to prove himself. 
It appears that he has taken advantage of 

269 


270 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


his uncle’s absence to start his afternoon pa¬ 
per.” 

But Mr. Cady was only partly right. Joe 
had not taken advantage of his uncle’s ab¬ 
sence ; he had taken advantage of an oppor¬ 
tunity, in spite of the absence of his uncle. 
He felt certain Mr. Hunter would approve 
when he could put all the facts before him. 

As the lad looked over the events of the 
day that night his only regret was that he 
had not determined Saturday night to go 
ahead with the afternoon paper. Had he 
done so, he felt sure, he would have beaten 
The Star to the street with the Floorshiem 
story. 

As it was, his day force was not organ¬ 
ized, and he had to depend absolutely on the 
loyalty of the morning-edition workers. 
They responded nobly to his call, but Joe 
knew that if he should have to depend upon 
them entirely, the work would be more than 
they could do. 

Now the die was cast, and something had 
to be done. 


COMPETITION 271 

In conference with Grant Barton and 
the circulation manager and Clark the next 
day it was decided that, for the present, The 
Evening Argus would consist of only two 
editions daily, one to go on the street at two 
o’clock and the other at five. For the 
present, it would be a purely local paper, 
although Joe realized that he would soon 
have to make some arrangements for getting 
outside news. 

However, this problem presented no great 
difficulty, for it would be easy to arrange 
for the full report of one of the other tele¬ 
graph services than the Associated Press. 
The chief problem that presented itself was 
who to put in charge of the afternoon paper. 

Barton solved this problem for the mo¬ 
ment by agreeing to act as managing edi¬ 
tor of The Evening Argus while retaining 
his position of city editor of the morning 
paper. 

“You can’t stand the work,” protested 
Joe. 

“ I can stand it as well as you can,” re- 


272 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


plied Barton. “ I’m partially responsible 
for the afternoon edition, and I’m going to 
do my share.” 

“ How about the circulation? ” asked Joe. 

“ I’ll handle all that,” answered the cir¬ 
culation manager, “ if you’ll give me a good 
assistant.” 

“ Have you any one in mind? ” 

“ Yes, ‘ Shorty ’ Mullen. He’s been sell¬ 
ing The Argus ever since he was old enough 
to talk, and he’s a hustler.” 

“ All right,” said Joe, “ and we’ll give 
him enough money to make it worth his 
while. And speaking of salaries, both you 
and Red shall have whatever increases you 
think is right. Do you think they should be 
doubled? ” 

“ No! ” both replied. 

“ Well, how much then? ” 

“ I should think a fifty-per-cent increase 
would be about right,” declared Grant. 

“ Suits me,” the circulation manager 
agreed. 

So it was fixed; and right there Joe dis- 


COMPETITION 273 

covered that one of the secrets of success is 
to pay salaries that are satisfactory to the 
employees. 

“ I suppose the next thing is to get a good 
city editor for The Evening Argus” said 
Joe. “ Know any one, Red? ” 

“ It wouldn’t take much of a man to be 
better than Simmons of The Star ” declared 
the circulation manager. 

“ I don’t know about that,” Barton dis¬ 
agreed. “ Simmons is a pretty good man, 
but he’s lazy.” 

“And tricky,” said the circulation man¬ 
ager. 

“ How do you mean? ” asked Joe. 

“Uses underhand means to get things. 
He even went so far as to try to have some 
of the boys tip him off on our features dur¬ 
ing Old Home Week.” 

“ That’s nothing,” laughed Barton. “ He 
tried to steal my best reporter.” 

“ I suppose he feels stealing our men 
would cripple us,” said Joe. “ Mr. Cady 
doesn’t figure it that way.” 


274 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ How does he figure, then? ” asked Bar¬ 
ton. 

“ He told me he intended to make use of 
our ideas.” 

“ Then that means that we must have 
plenty of ideas,” remarked the city editor. 
“A new idea for each day. It isn’t going to 
be enough for us to get out an afternoon 
paper; we must get out a different after¬ 
noon paper.” 

“ Suppose you write to Chicago and 
bring on a new man,” suggested the circu¬ 
lation manager. 

“ He wouldn’t know Wolverton,” said 
Joe. “ Inasmuch as we must fill the paper 
with local news—for the present at least— 
we should have a man who knows Wolver¬ 
ton. What do you think, Red? ” 

“ That’s my idea. I’ll see if I can’t sug¬ 
gest some one by to-morrow.” 

Grant was thinking the problem over that 
evening when he received a call from a 
young man named Willard, one of the best 
reporters on The Star . 


COMPETITION 


275 


“ Hello, Willard,” said Barton, who 
knew the other well. “ What can I do for 
you? ” 

“ Looking for a job,” the other grinned. 

“ What’s the matter with The Star? 33 

44 Nothing, but I thought maybe you’d 
need a city editor for the afternoon sheet.” 

“ That’s a pretty good guess; we do.” 

44 I thought maybe I could fill the bill, 
and it would be a step up for me.” 

“ Nothing wrong about that,” was 
Grant’s reply, 44 but on general principles I 
don’t like to hire a man from another local 
paper.” 

44 1 know,” returned Willard, 44 but I 
seem to have gone about as far as I can 
on The Star unless some one quits or dies.” 

46 Well, I’ll think it over, Willard, but 
if I were you I’d stick to The Star . There 
is going to be some real competition from 
now on, and I’m familiar enough with Mr. 
Cady’s ideas to realize he’ll expect better 
work than he has been getting.” 

44 Maybe so.” 


276 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“And, furthermore, we’ve got to have a 
man with ideas. Mere routine isn’t going 
to do on The Evening Argus” 

“ That’s why I’d like to come over. I 
have some ideas myself. I’d like a chance to 
develop them.” 

“ Well, suppose you drop in and see me 
the last of the week,” said Grant. “ I’m 
going to handle things myself for a few 
days.” 

“ Willard wouldn’t be a bad man for us,” 
Grant told Joe several hours later in relat¬ 
ing the conversation, “ but I don’t want to 
start in with the idea that we can’t train men 
of our own.” 

“And I think your advice to him to stick 
to The Star was good,” declared Joe. 
“ Unless Simmons takes a brace, he won’t 
last long.” 

The Floorshiem defalcation furnished 
plenty of news for the next three or four 
days, and gave Joe and Grant ample oppor¬ 
tunity to develop the illustrated-daily idea, 
which had been tried out so successfully 


COMPETITION 


277 


during Old Home Week; but one story 
doesn’t make a newspaper. 

They soon discovered that Mr. Cady’s 
statement that he was going to try out some 
of Joe’s ideas was no idle threat. The Star 
had plenty of money, and Mr. Cady wasn’t 
afraid to spend it. 

While The Star had no photo-engraving 
plant that could compete with the Etchem 
plant that Joe had so recently purchased, 
Mr. Cady did not hesitate to make use of 
the commercial shops. 

In this connection Joe showed his real 
business sense. Not only were pictures 
costing The Argus only about half of what 
they were The Star, but they were given the 
right of way over everything in the Etchem 
plant, while in the commercial shops The 
Star had to take its chance along with 
others. 

The result was that every day The Even - 
ing Argus had pictures, and occasionally 
used them in the morning edition, which The 
Star could not print until the following day. 


278 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


This was excellent advertising, and gave 
The Argus first place in the public mind. 

Then, too, Wolverton was pleased with 
the local news. In this respect The Argus 
was far superior to The Star . 

But the thing that particularly made The 
Argus popular was the enterprise shown by 
continually doing something unexpected. 
The Argus had set a pace and kept it. 

Before the second week was over Joe had 
paid the twenty-five hundred dollars he had 
borrowed to buy the Etchem plant, and his 
circulation had settled down to an average 
of twelve thousand a day. 

Joe was jubilant, but he had not learned 
yet what real competition meant. 

The Star published a Sunday morning 
edition, which had always been a close com¬ 
petitor of the Sunday morning Argus . On 
the Sunday morning following Joe’s en¬ 
trance into the afternoon field, The Star 
came out with an announcement of a reduc¬ 
tion in price. 

The Star had always been a two-cent 


COMPETITION 


279 


paper with a five-cent Sunday edition. Now 
it chopped the price of the daily to one cent, 
and offered the daily and Sunday for fifty 
cents a month. 

It also announced a premium offer, and 
the next day started out a big force of can¬ 
vassers to boom circulation. 

“ I hate to do it,” Mr. Cady told his 
family over the breakfast table Sunday 
morning, “ but Joe had fair warning. I 
told him that if he ever started an afternoon 
paper, I’d make it interesting for him.” 

To his business associates Mr. Cady said: 
“ We might just as well put The Evening 
Argus out of the field in the beginning. 
The shorter time it runs, the less money the 
Hunters will lose.” 

But The Star had not counted upon Joe 
Hunter, nor upon the public. 

In an editorial Monday, The Evening 
Argus announced that it had not started to 
compete with The Star, but to print the 
local news. 

“ Read The Morning Argus for world 


280 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


news,” said the editorial, “ but if you want 
to know all that is going on in Wolverton, 
read The Evening Argus. If it isn’t worth 
two cents, it isn’t worth reading.” 

This last phrase Joe printed in small 
black-faced type in scores of places through 
the paper; also, in heavy type across the top 
of the front page. 

The idea caught the public, which by this 
time had awakened to the fact that The 
Evening Argus was a live wire and that a 
newspaper war of interesting proportions 
was on. 

44 If it isn’t worth two cents, it isn’t worth 
reading,” was in everybody’s mouth. Of 
course if that applied to The Evening 
Argus it applied equally to The Star. The 
public apparently believed it was true, and 
The Evening Argus benefited greatly as a 
result. 


CHAPTER XXY 


BROADENING OUT 

It soon became evident to both Joe and 
Grant that a purely local paper was a hard 
proposition. Not that it wasn’t popular, 
but that local news and local pictures in the 
city of Wolverton were not so plentiful. 

This had been Simon Hunter’s fear in his 
first talk with Joe about an evening edition 
of The Argus . 

Joe and Grant discussed the subject fre¬ 
quently. It was Grant who finally offered 
the solution. 

“ What do you mean by local news, any¬ 
how? ” he asked Joe. 

“ Why, Wolverton news of course.” 

“ Why 4 of course ’ ? Don’t you include 
Overland Park? ” 

44 Yes.” 

44 Then you don’t mean Wolverton ex* 

281 


282 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


clusively. You mean Wolverton and vicin¬ 
ity.” 

Joe admitted that his friend was right. 

“ And what do you mean by 4 vicinity ? ” 
continued Barton. 

Joe scratched his head. 

44 Well, I hadn’t thought about that,” he 
finally admitted. 

Grant laughed. 

44 It’s time you did,” he declared. 44 Now, 
I’ve been studying the word 4 local ’ as de¬ 
fined in the best dictionaries, and I find they 
all agree that it means 4 limited to one 
neighborhood or district.’ In other words, 
4 local ’ means just as big as you think is 
local. If we include such places as Over¬ 
land Park, Webster Grove, and half a dozen 
other places contiguous to Wolverton, why 
not enlarge our locality so as to take in all 
the villages within a fifty-mile radius? ” 

A smile spread over Joe’s face. 

44 The New York newspapers,” he replied, 
44 seem to have extended their idea of 4 local ’ 
to take in the whole United States. I guess 


BROADENING OUT 


283 


we ought to be able to take in as much as 
fifty miles.” 

“ I suppose,” said Grant, “ that you con¬ 
sider the activities of our ball club local 
news, no matter where it plays? ” 

“ Of course.” 

“ Then why not the activities of any of 
our citizens, no matter where they may be? ” 
“No reason why not,” Joe admitted. 

“ Well, then,” Grant went on, “ my idea 
is this: As long as we are having trouble in 
always getting just what we want right here 
in Wolverton, let’s extend our locality to 
take in all the towns and villages within 
fifty miles in every direction, and the activi¬ 
ties of Wolverton people anywhere. We 
can easily find some young girl or boy to act 
as correspondent of The Argus in the vil¬ 
lages, and they can act as agents as well.” 

“ We’re already doing that in the morn¬ 
ing paper in a small way,” said Joe. 

“ I know. But how often do you hear 
from these correspondents? ” 

“ Not so often,” Joe admitted. 


284 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ Why? ” 

“ Why? I suppose because they don’t 
often have anything to send.” 

“ That’s it exactly,” declared Grant. 
“We haven’t been printing the small-town 
items, but The Evening Argus will print 
them. The result will be that the various 
correspondents will have a few items in the 
paper almost every day. That would pay 
them enough to make it worth their while.” 

“ And it will pay us, too,” Joe agreed. 
“ We can place pretty good batches of 
papers in those villages if we print the local 
village news.” 

Grant smiled. 

“ What makes you think so? ” he asked. 

“ Because we always have a good sale in 
those places when anything in the news ap¬ 
plies particularly to the village.” 

The idea of extending the “ locality ” was 
no sooner decided upon than Joe got busy. 
Taking a map of the State and an inter- 
, urban time-table, he figured out just how 
many villages he could reach with an after- 


BROADENING OUT 


285 


noon paper that could be delivered before 
five o’clock. Next he saw officials of the in- 
terurban lines and arranged for a special- 
delivery system. 

Having arranged for distribution, he 
went again to Barton. 

“ The time has come,” he said, “ when we 
shall have to have a city editor, because I 
want to give Standish a new job.” 

Standish had been acting city editor. 

“ What are you going to do with him? ” 
asked Grant. 

“I’m going to put him in charge of the 
vicinity news and circulation. You’ve been 
telling me he is a good man. Now we’ll 
give him something to do in the way of busi¬ 
ness building.” 

“ Don’t worry; he’ll make good,” de¬ 
clared Barton. 

“ The first thing you must do,” Joe told 
Standish at a conference later in the day, 
“is to impress upon the boys and girls you 
will select as correspondents the necessity of 
getting their news letters in early. If some- 


286 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


thing happens in the evening, we should 
have an account of it early in the morning. 
Pictures of coming events, like weddings 
and school entertainments, should be ready 
days in advance.” 

“ I understand that perfectly,” replied 
Standish. “ How about circulation, though ? 
That’s something I don’t know much 
about.” 

“Well,” said Joe slowly, “I believe it 
would be better to have a different girl or 
boy looking after circulation. Then each 
one would act as a spur to the other.” 

“ That’s a good idea.” 

“ But be sure to make them understand 
that this rivalry is always to be most 
friendly. They must work together. Team¬ 
work is what counts. Make them under¬ 
stand that if we are to make a success of 
The Evening Argus it must be through 
team-work.” 

“ I’ll do my best.” 

“ And,” said Joe, “ we’ll offer a monthly 
prize to the team showing the best results.” 


BROADENING OUT 


287 


“ How will you figure that out? Of 
course, you expect to get more circulation 
out of a village of three thousand than you 
do out of one of five hundred. It will be 
the same in the matter of news.” 

“ Well, suppose we base it on the best 
showing for every one hundred of popula¬ 
tion? That will give everybody an even 
chance.” 

“ That’s fair enough,” agreed Standish. 

“ Another thing,” said Joe. “ My suc¬ 
cess depends largely upon my ability to se¬ 
lect good assistants. If I have made a wise 
choice in your case, it will mean success in 
this particular venture. I know you will 
make good in getting the news, but I want 
you to realize that we must save dollars at 
every turn.” 

Joe’s advice is good for every boy. John 
Wanamaker, one of the most successful 
business men the world has ever known, said 
the hardest work of his life was making and 
saving his first thousand dollars. Yet after 
that he never wasted, although he was able 


288 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

to invest vast sums in extending his busi¬ 
ness. 

Standish began his work quietly. Two 
or three villages a day were all he tried to 
cover, but he did his work thoroughly, and 
results were soon apparent. In two weeks, 
vicinity news and pictorial features vied for 
first place with purely city news and fea¬ 
tures. 

In a month The Evening Argus had 
built up an organization that was furnishing 
Wolverton and vicinity with news in which 
the people were individually interested. 
And not only was The Evening Argus a 
paying proposition, but the morning edition 
as well was reaping additional benefits. 

This was the condition of affairs when 
Simon Hunter returned from his trip to the 
southwest. His first intimation of the new 
venture—for neither Joe nor his mother 
had written of the evening edition—was 
when he stepped from a train at the Wol¬ 
verton station. 

It was four o’clock in the afternoon, and 



BROADENING OUT 


289 


almost the first thing he heard was a news¬ 
boy crying, “ Evening papers! Argus and 
Star! ” 

Mr. Hunter stopped in his tracks. 

“ What’s that? ” he asked the boy. 

“ Oh, hello, Mr. Hunter,” said the boy, 
recognizing the publisher of The Argus . 
“ Just getting home, sir? ” 

“ Yes. What’s that I heard you call- 
mg? 

Evening Argus , sir.” 

“ Let me see one.” 

The newsboy complied, and Mr. Hunter 
put his hand-bag down on the station plat¬ 
form and hastily scanned the paper. 

“ How long has this been going on? ” he 
asked. 

“ What, sir? ” 

“ How long have we had an Evening 
Argus? ” 

“ Oh, ever since Old Home Week.” 

“ Why, that’s almost two months.” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ How do they sell? ” 


290 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

“ Great! I sell two copies of The Argus 
to every Star ” 

Mr. Hunter said no more, but entering a 
taxi was driven quickly to the office. On 
the way he considered the matter. He 
didn’t know whether to be angry or pleased. 

“ I wouldn’t mind if I had been con¬ 
sulted,” he thought. “ I’m afraid Joe has 
gone a little too far.” 

But as he drew nearer the office, observ¬ 
ing as he rode along the number of people 
reading The Argus , he began to catch the 
spirit. 

“ I guess it’s all right,” he told himself, 
as he entered the office building and caught 
the sound of the presses. 

“Well, you young scamp!” was his 
greeting to Joe, who came forward to meet 
him. “You put the afternoon paper over 
on me, didn’t you? ” 

“ Well, not exactly, Uncle Simon,” was 
Joe’s reply. “The afternoon edition just 
naturally put itself over.” 

Five minutes later he was relating the 



“Evening papers! Argus and Star!”—P age 289 


































































. 
























t 












































BROADENING OUT 291 

various incidents which had led to the birth 
of The Evening Argus . 

“ And instead of losing ten thousand dol¬ 
lars,” he added, “ we’ve already cleared a 
third of that amount.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE NEW CITY EDITOR 

Grant Barton had been unable so far 
to find a city editor for The Evening Argus. 
He had taken the only real good man he 
had and made him city editor of The Morn¬ 
ing Argus , and had continued to direct the 
news end of the evening edition himself. 

But the work was now getting too heavy. 
As Joe had told him when he put Standish 
in charge of the vicinity news, a city editor 
for The Evening Argus had now become a 
necessity. 

After a week’s vain search, Grant in¬ 
formed Joe he would like to have Standish 
back. 

“ Not a chance,” laughed Joe. “ He’s 
doing too well where he is. Why don’t you 
hire Willard? He’s still available, isn’t 
he?” 

“ I don’t think so. I met him on the 

292 


THE NEW CITY EDITOR 293 

street the other day, and he thanked me for 
my advice the time he called.” 

“ Things getting pretty bad on The 
Star? 33 asked Joe. 

“ He didn’t say; but he did say that Cady 
had talked pretty sharp to Simmons. Said 
he had too much business himself to give all 
his time to The Star, and that he expected 
his employees to furnish a few ideas.” 

“ That was pretty pointed. I wonder 
what Simmons said? ” 

“ Willard didn’t say, but I know he is 
expecting to see a change the next time we 
beat them, whether on news or ideas. I be¬ 
lieve he figures that, in that event, he will 
get Simmons’ place. He’s straight about it, 
though. Told me he was looking for a 
chance to lick us. If The Star ever puts 
anything over on us, it will be Willard who 
will furnish the idea.” 

“ Success to him! ” laughed Joe. “ I cer¬ 
tainly do like an open rival and a fair fight.” 

Several days later Grant received a tele¬ 
gram from a Chicago newspaper agency, 


294 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

with whom he had done considerable busi¬ 
ness, asking whether the position of city 
editor on The Evening Argus were still 
open. 

Grant replied that it was, and several 
hours later received a wire from a man who 
signed himself Edward Summers, making 
application for the place and saying that 
he would be in Wolverton the following 
day. 

Summers put in his appearance about 
three o’clock the next afternoon. He was a 
man of perhaps thirty, and from his talk 
Barton was soon convinced that he was a 
good newspaper man. 

“ Where have you been working? ” he 
asked. 

“ I am on The Enfield Republican ” re¬ 
plied the other. “ I have also worked in 
Toledo and other Ohio cities, and I put in a 
couple of years in Chicago. I left there be¬ 
cause I was tired of the city. It’s too big. 
I’d rather live in a city the size of Wolver- 
ton.” 


THE NEW CITY EDITOR 295 


“ Then you’re still with The Enfield Re¬ 
publican? ” 

“Yes; but I’m the last man on the staff, 
and they’re perfectly willing I should quit, 
for they are about to suspend publication. 
I’ve been watching The Evening Argus 
and I’ve seen some notices about it in The 
Fourth Estate . I’d like to come with you. 
I’m sure I can fill the bill.” 

Barton was sure he could, too; and still 
there was something about the man that did 
not ring true. He was undoubtedly a live 
wire, and Grant was too well acquainted 
with the roving newspaper man not to recog¬ 
nize the breed. 

“ What references can you give? ” he 
asked. 

“ Every paper I have worked on. You 
might write The Chicago Record . I was 
there two years, and left entirely of my own 
accord.” 

“ All right, then,” said Grant. “ I’ll do 
as you suggest, and let you know as soon as 
I have a reply.” 


296 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ Well,” said Summers as he arose to go, 
“ I hope I get the place. You’re a live 
bunch and I’d like to work with you.” 

As soon as Summers had gone Grant 
wrote a letter to the managing editor of The 
Chicago Record. The reply, received two 
days later, was favorable. Grant showed 
the letter to Joe. 

“ Sounds pretty good,” was Joe’s com¬ 
ment. 

“ Yes, it does. I have no doubt of Sum¬ 
mers’ ability, but, somehow, I am not sure 
of his honesty.” 

Joe laughed outright. 

“ I’m afraid you’re getting nervous,” he 
said. “ First thing you know you’ll have a 
breakdown.” 

Grant shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Don’t worry about my nerves, Joe,” he 
said. “ I’ll be here just as long as I’m 
needed. It may be, however, that I am 
overly concerned about The 'Evening Argus. 
I feel sort of responsible for it, I guess.” 

“ You’ve certainly done your share. If 


THE NEW CITY EDITOR 297 

this man Summers is a good newspaper 
man, get him.” 

So it was decided, and the following Mon¬ 
day Edward Summers became city editor of 
The Evening Argus. 

That Grant had been right in his estimate 
of the man’s ability was soon apparent. 
Summers took hold in first-class shape. 
True, he didn’t claim to know Wolverton, 
but he was familiar with the vicinity, and 
he knew news, which was the main thing. 

One of the greatest newspaper editors 
that ever lived—Joseph B. McCullagh, who 
made The St. Louis Globe-Democrat —once 
said that whatever was news to ten persons 
was worth printing. This same McCullagh 
is known as the “ father of the interview.” 

Had not Mr. Summers been such a 

* 

young man, it might well have been that he 
learned his profession in the McCullagh 
school. No bit of news was so trivial, and 
no man was so small,—or so great, for that 
matter,—that the event or opinion could not 
find space in The Evening Argus. 


298 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


And if one of the reporters came in with 
the excuse that a certain story could not be 
obtained, or a certain man could not be in¬ 
terviewed, Summers went out and did the 
work himself. 

“ He certainly is a wonder,” Grant told 
Joe after Summers had been with The 
Argus for several weeks, “ but I believe I 
have discovered his weak point. He is prone 
to exaggerate.” 

Joe smiled. 

“ He isn’t in a class by himself in that 
respect,” he declared. 

“ Unfortunately,” Grant agreed. 

“ I suppose you have spoken to him about 
it?” 

“ Oh, yes.” 

“ What did he say? ” 

“ Same old story. Said it is too bad to 
spoil a good story just because it lacks a 
certain feature.” 

“ Well,” said Joe positively, “ you tell 
him he must confine himself to facts. My 
father built up The Argus on the slogan, 


THE NEW CITY EDITOR 299 

‘ If you see it in The Argus, it is so.’ We 
cannot have that reputation spoiled.” 

“ That’s just what I told Summers. Fur¬ 
thermore, I’ve made it plain to him that if 
the feature is lacking, it isn’t a story. This 
is not a fiction magazine. It’s a newspaper.” 

After Grant had spoken about exaggera¬ 
tion several times, Summers seemed to profit 
by his advice, and there was no further cause 
for criticism along that line; but still Grant 
was never sure that something would not 
creep into the paper that should not be 
there. 

“ I don’t know what there is about Sum¬ 
mers that causes me to doubt him,” he said 
to Mr. Hunter one day, “ but I never feel 
that I can leave the paper entirely in his 
charge.” 

“ Then I’d be very careful,” was Mr. 
Hunter’s advice. “I’ve had those intuitions 
myself, and I’ve usually found there was 
some reason for them.” 

Grant did not need to be cautioned. In 
spite of the fact that he was at the office 


300 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


every night until midnight, looking after 
the morning edition, he was always down 
early enough the next day to go over all the 
proofs of The Evening Argus before the 
first edition went to press. 

After several weeks of this supervision, 
without result, Grant made up his mind that 
he was unnecessarily anxious. Still, he 
could not altogether rid himself of the feel¬ 
ing of distrust. 

Then, one day, he was struck with the 
similarity between an item in The Argus 
and one in The Star. It was a small bit of 
news, but it was something Grant had had 
reason to believe The Star would not have. 

“ That’s funny,” he mused. Then, re¬ 
membering the source of the story: “ How¬ 
ever, I suppose Willard got it in the mayor’s 
office.” 

The matter finally passed from his mind, 
.and he would doubtless have thought noth¬ 
ing more about it had not the same thing 
occurred again a few days later. 

Both pieces of news had come from vir- 


THE NEW CITY EDITOR 301 


tually the same source. Of course, it was 
possible that both papers might have ac¬ 
quired the same version; but it was Grant’s 
observation that no two men tell a story 
from the same viewpoint. 

He called Summers into his office. 

“ Where did we get that Third National 
Bank story? ” he asked. 

“ Dallam got it from one of the tellers.” 

“ Do you know his name? ” 

“ No, I don’t.” 

“ I wonder how The Star happened to 
get it? ” 

“ Some one in the bank, I suppose.” 

“ Hardly possible. There has always 
been a feud between the Third National and 
the bank of which Mr. Cady is president. It 
would be as much as a man’s job is worth at 
the Third National to be seen talking with 
a reporter of The Star ” 

Summers looked surprised. 

“ I didn’t know that,” he said. “ Then 
that must have been a pretty fair story for 
The Star ” 


302 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ It certainly was. Anything else new in 
it?” 

“Not that I know of, but I’m having it 
followed up.” 

“ Very well. You might tell Dallam, 
now that the matter has become public, to 
see Alexander, the cashier. He’s a friend 
of ours.” 

Later in the afternoon Grant himself 
dropped into the Third National Bank. He 
was well known there, and went at once to 
the president’s office. 

“ Why, hello, Barton,” the president 
greeted him. “ We don’t see much of you 
lately.” 

“ I’m pretty busy,” Grant replied. “ By 
the way, I see you are going to enlarge your 
establishment.” 

“ Yes,” laughed the president, “ although 
I don’t see how you found it out. We 
thought we were keeping it secret.” 

“ Our boys are pretty wide-awake,” 
laughed Grant. 

“ Especially your new man,” replied the 


THE NEW CITY EDITOR 303 

banker. “ He was in himself just before 
luncheon.” 

“ You mean the new city editor, Mr. 
Summers? ” 

“Yes; that’s his name. Said he wanted 
to verify the news before he printed it. 
Said you were particular, and had been 
after him a couple of times about not getting 
things just so.” 

Grant smiled, as he replied: “ Yes, that’s 
so. I am glad he is careful.” 

Yet in spite of this information Grant 
was not satisfied. 

“ I wonder why Summers didn’t tell me 
he had been over to the bank,” he thought. 
“ Of course, it may be that he did not wish 
to take any credit away from Dallam, but 
again it might not. However, it’s nothing 
to worry about. I guess I really am getting 
over-suspicious.” 

“ That’s it,” laughed Joe, when Barton 
told him about it. 

But Grant determined to be more watch¬ 
ful than ever. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


INSIDE HISTORY 

In order thoroughly to appreciate what 
the Third National Bank item meant to 
The Star, it is necessary to have a glimpse 
into the editorial room of that paper. 

Just about the time Mr. Summers be¬ 
came city editor of The Argus things were 
going badly with The Star . There had 
been two or three big pieces of news that 
had not found their way into the columns of 
The Star, and circulation was falling off. 

Mr. Cady had spoken to Simmons about 
the matter, and the city editor had informed 
him that he did not have enough men to 
cover the city properly. 

“ Then hire a couple more,” Mr. Cady 
had instructed him, “ but don’t get scooped 
on these important stories.” 

Accordingly Simmons had sent to Chi- 

304 


INSIDE HISTORY 


805 


cago and hired what were considered two 
first-class reporters. But neither knew 
Wolverton, and naturally they were not 
fitted to give The Star what Mr. Cady 
wanted. 

The result was that, a week before the 
Third National Bank item was printed in 
The Argus, Mr. Cady again appeared in 
the city room of The Star. This time he 
was angry. 

“ What’s the matter with this staff? ” he 
asked loudly, as he stopped in front of 
Simmons’ desk. “ Haven’t we any real 
newspaper men on the force? ” 

“ The best I can find, sir,” was Simmons’ 
reply. 

“ Then you’d better get somebody else to 
help you hunt. Here we are scooped 
again! No wonder our circulation is fall¬ 
ing off. What good does it do me to send 
out a big force of solicitors and get new sub¬ 
scribers if we can’t keep them? At the rate 
we’re going, we’ll lose fifty thousand dollars 
this year.” 


306 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ It’s too bad, sir,” said Simmons. “ I’ll 


“Too bad!” ejaculated his employer. 
“ It’s so bad that unless things change for 
the better, and that soon, a lot of you will 
be hunting new jobs! And what we’re los¬ 
ing The Argus is gaining. Who’s respon¬ 
sible, that’s what I want to know? ” 

“ Of course, sir, there are no reporters on 
The Star who know the town as well as Red 
Barton,” Simmons said timidly. 

“ He doesn’t know it any better than 
some of you,” declared Mr. Cady. “ The 
answer is that Barton is always on the job. 
He’s a hustler. And so is Joe Hunter.” 

Simmons made no reply, and Mr. Cady 
went on: “ Now I want all of you,” and his 
quick glance swept the room, “ to listen 
carefully to what I have to say. You’ve all 
been loafing on the shady side of Easy 
Street, it seems to me. From now on I 
want you to get busy on the sunny side of 
Hustle Street. Take my advice, and don’t 
forget it. That’s all!” 



INSIDE HISTORY 307 

Mr. Cady turned on his heel and left the 
room. 

“ The old man’s got his fighting clothes 
on this morning,” Simmons remarked to 
Willard after Mr. Cady had gone. 

“ Looks like he had good reason,” was the 
reply. 

“ What I can’t see,” continued Simmons, 
“ is why he makes such a fuss about these 
business items. There’s no news in them.” 

“ I fancy that’s because you don’t get Mr. 
Cady’s viewpoint.” 

“ Nor,” Simmons went on, “ can I see 
why Mr. Cady doesn’t tip us off to that sort 
of news himself. He’s right in the middle 
of it.” 

“ I suppose he has many other things to 
do,” replied Willard. “ He pays you for 
looking after this end of the business.” 

“ Well, outside of yourself I haven’t a 
man on the staff who is acquainted with the 
business side of Wolverton. If I knew 
some way to cover up, I’d be mighty glad.” 

“ I’m willing to do all I can,” said Wil- 


308 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


lard. “ If you’ll relieve me of the courts, 
maybe I can get some results.” 

But Simmons shook his head. 

“We get our best news out of the courts,” 
he said. “ There is nothing the people like 
to read as much as these divorce cases-” 

“ I don’t believe it,” declared Willard. 
“ If I were city editor I’d give less space to 
murders and divorce cases and more to the 
big things of life.” 

“ Oh, you would? Well, when you get to 
be city editor you can do it. I won’t.” 

After Willard had left the office and 
Simmons was alone at his desk, one of the 
new reporters approached. 

“ If you’ll meet me at the Miles lunch¬ 
room when you get time,” he said, “ I think 
I can tell you how to avoid being continually 
scooped.” 

Simmons looked at him in surprise. 

“ Why not tell me here? ” he demanded. 

“ Some one might come in. I wouldn’t 
want any member of the staff to hear what 
I have to say.” 



INSIDE HISTORY 


809 


“ Secret, hey? ” 

“ Yes; worse than that.” 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“ Well,” said the reporter, whose name 
was Taitor, “ I heard what the big chief said 
a few minutes ago. I can see that you are 
likely to lose your job, and maybe some of 
the rest of us. Now, I’d like to stay here. 
It’s a good town. I want to give you a tip, 
but I don’t want any man on the staff to 
know anything about it.” 

“ Oh, well, if that’s the way you feel about 
it, I’ll meet you at the Miles,” said Sim¬ 
mons. 

An hour later Taitor and Simmons were 
seated at a table in the lunchroom. 

“ Well,” said Simmons, “ what’s the great 
idea? ” 

“You know they have a new city editor 
on The Argus? ” 

“ Of course.” 

“ Know who he is? ” 

“ Man by the name of Summers they got 
from The Enfield Republican .” 


310 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

“ That’s right; but until a couple of years 
ago Edward Summers was the star reporter 
on The Chicago Record ” 

“ Is that so? If he’s such a star, why 
didn’t he stick? ” 

“ That’s what I’m here to tell you. He 
quit The Record after a row with Paine, the 
city editor. Outside of Paine and Summers 
himself I suppose I am the only man who 
knows what the row was about.” 

“ Well, what was it? ” 

“ Summers is a grafter.” 

“ A grafter? What do you mean? ” 

“ Paine discovered that Summers had 
been taking money from Dink Botts, Chi¬ 
cago’s most crooked politician, both for get¬ 
ting stories into the paper and also for 
tipping Botts off to news before it appeared 
in The Record . Botts’ right-hand man, 
Cook, was publishing a daily bulletin at the 
time, and Summers had been tipping him 
off to Record news.” 

“ If that’s true, why didn’t Paine fire him 
instead of allowing him to resign? ” 


INSIDE HISTORY 


311 


“ I don’t know. Paine was an awfully 
soft-hearted fellow, and I heard him tell 
Summers that if he’d just quit he’d not spoil 
his future by making the matter public. 
That’s the way I happen to know about it.” 

“ And how is this information going to 
help me? ” asked Simmons. 

Taitor regarded his city editor with a 
smile, as he replied: “ I don’t know that it 
will help you at all. That’s up to you. If 
it should, I’m not supposed to know any¬ 
thing about it.” 

“ Well, I shall not tell any one unless I 
am obliged to,” declared Simmons. “ Of 
course a man like that is a detriment to the 
newspaper profession.” 

“ Undoubtedly,” replied Taitor, “ but if 
you like to do business with that kind, they 
are sometimes useful.” 

All that day Taitor’s words were in Sim¬ 
mons’ mind. He had never before been 
tempted in just such a manner, although he 
had at various times tried to get informa¬ 
tion from Argus employees. 


312 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


For several days he did nothing. Then 
came the need of action, and Simmons was 
desperate. 

Over at the court-house Willard had 
learned in a roundabout way that the Third 
National Bank was contemplating some big 
deal. What it was he was unable to learn. 
He told Simmons. 

Then it was that Sinmions got into com¬ 
munication with Summers. They had a 
long conference. At first Summers refused 
to do what Simmons asked; but money was 
his weak point; and when Simmons offered 
him a permanent weekly sum Summers 
was unable to resist, and agreed to furnish 
Simmons with such information as he could. 

And the Third National bank story was 
his first piece of treachery. Thus, having 
once placed himself in Simmons’ power, the 
city editor of The Argus became an easy 
tool. 

But neither Simmons nor Summers had 
figured on Grant Barton. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


A BITTER LESSON 

While Simmons and Summers were 
plotting and using dishonorable methods to 
save the former from the results of his in¬ 
ability properly to perform the duties of his 
position, Grant Barton was equally as busy 
digging a pit into which the conspirators 
should fall. 

It was to be a pit which not only would 
trap Summers, if he were guilty, and Bar¬ 
ton was convinced that he was, but would 
expose Simmons as well, and would result 
in punishment for the briber as well as the 
bribed. 

Barton had no animosity toward Sim¬ 
mons. He had known him for a long time, 
and was even well acquainted with mem¬ 
bers of his family; but he knew that Sum¬ 
mers would not have turned from the 

straight path unless some one offered him 

313 


314 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


the opportunity. Grant felt sure that his 
tempter must be Simmons. 

In The Argus office it had always been 
the custom, when a reporter was on a spe¬ 
cial story, to have him relieved of his regu¬ 
lar assignments. Consequently, when a re¬ 
porter was called into the managing editor’s 
office and detached from routine work, it 
was perfectly certain that something was on 
foot. 

Early Tuesday morning, therefore, Grant 
called Edmunds, one of the oldest men on 
the local staff, into his office, telling Sum¬ 
mers the man would be needed for a couple 
of days. 

Edmunds was eager and alert. He was 
expecting to be assigned to some big story. 
Imagine his surprise, therefore, when all 
Grant said was: “ Edmunds, I want you to 
go home and stay in the house until I send 
for you.” 

Edmunds made no protest, although he 
looked as though he would like an explana¬ 
tion. But Grant was not taking a single 


A BITTER LESSON 315 

person into his confidence. What he was 
doing was to be known only to himself. 

When Edmunds failed to return that day 
with some sort of story, Summers inquired 
about it. 

“ I thought we were to have a big story 
of some sort to-day,” he said to Grant. 
“ I’ve been depending on it for a feature.” 

“ Probably Edmunds had some difficulty 
getting the facts,” was Grant’s response. 

Just before lunch hour the next day 
Grant passed a proof-sheet to Summers. 
It was the proof of a story he had written 
himself, in which there was not one word of 
truth. It was absolute fiction, but was so 
written as to have the earmarks of having 
been worked up for a big feature. Naturally 
Summers thought Edmunds had written it. 

Briefly stated, the story was to the effect 
that a certain business block had been sold, 
and that a twelve-story hotel was to be 
erected on the site. It even gave the name 
of the purchaser, a fictitious firm supposed 
to be in Chicago, and the names of the men 


816 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


who would manage the hotel,—also ficti¬ 
tious. 

“ I wish you’d write a head for this,” 
Grant said to Summers. “ I’ve got to at¬ 
tend to the make-up and I’m rushed for 
time.” He looked at the clock. “ You have 
time before lunch, haven’t you? ” 

“ Sure.” 

Five minutes later Summers returned the 
article to Grant, together with the head. 

Then Summers went to lunch. When he 
returned Grant said to him: “ Guess I won’t 
use that hotel story until the city edition, 
Summers. No use tipping The Star off 
until it’s too late for them to do much with 
it.” 

Summers immediately returned to his 
desk and picked up the telephone. 

Later in the day Grant watched Summers 
closely when a hoy brought up the first 
copies of the city edition from the press¬ 
room. As Summers looked the paper over 
without finding the hotel story, his face be¬ 
came first red, then ashy; then, dropping 


A BITTER LESSON 


317 


the paper on his desk, he picked up his hat 
and coat and went out. 

A few minutes later a boy appeared with 
the city edition of The Star. Hastily Grant 
ran his eye over the front page. 

Sure enough, just as he had expected* 
there was the hotel story. 

It was not as long a story as the one 
Grant had written, and of which he had 
given Summers the proof. But the main 
details were the same, even to the fictitious 
names. 

There was no longer room for doubt 
that Summers was a traitor. And right 
there The Argus bade good-bye to him. 
After his sudden flight from the office he 
was seen no more in Wolverton. Un¬ 
doubtedly he had taken the first train out of 
the city. 

It wasn’t five minutes after the city edi¬ 
tion of The Star was out before Joe was in 
Grant’s office with a copy in his hand. 

“ Did you see this hotel story in The 
Star? ” he asked. 


318 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“Sure!” laughed Grant. “Good yarn, 
isn’t it? ” 

“ How did we happen to miss it? ” de«* 
manded Joe. 

For answer Grant passed him his proof 
of the original story. 

“ I didn’t write it to use,” he explained. 
“ I wrote it for The Star. There isn’t a 
word of truth in it. Those names and facts 
existed only in the imagination of yours 
truly.” 

Joe drew a long breath. 

“ Whew-w-w! ” was all he said. 

Simmons, in The Star office, had been 
looking over the city edition of The Argus , 
with the full expectation of seeing the hotel 
story displayed on the front page. His sur¬ 
prise at not seeing it was too great for utter¬ 
ance. 

It had not yet dawned on him that he had 
been deceived when Mr. Cady entered the 
room. 

“ Where did you get this hotel story? ” 
demanded the publisher of The Star . 


A BITTER LESSON 


319 


“ Friend of mine tipped me off,” replied 
Simmons. “ Told me The Argus had been 
working on it for a couple of days. We 
beat them at their own game this time, sir.” 

“ Who was your friend? ” queried Mr. 
Cady. 

“ I’m not at liberty to tell, sir.” 

“You are at liberty to tell the publisher 
of The Star where you get the news you 
print in it. Come, I must know! ” 

“ This is most unusual, Mr. Cady,” said 
,Simmons, greatly disturbed. “ You have 
never made such a demand before. Why 
now? ” 

“ Because I am certain, Simmons, that 
there is not a word of truth in it. I am the 
owner of the city block in question, as you 
could have learned with a little care. I have 
not sold it, nor have I been approached to 
do so.” 

Simmons grew more uneasy. 

“ My informant may have mistaken the 
block,” he declared, “ but I feel sure the 
other facts are correct. Why, he even gave 


320 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


me the name of the Chicago concern, as you 
can see. I imagine The Argus will have a 
big story on the sale in the morning.” 

“ I hope so. However, you have been 
careless. I want you to see the man who 
gave you the information, and find out 
whether or not the other statements are 
facts, or whether some one has been playing 
a joke on you.” 

“I’ll do that, of course, sir. It is unfor¬ 
tunate we should have mistaken the block 
sold, but I feel sure the other statements are 
correct.” 

But Grant Barton had another surprise 
for Simmons. 

The Morning Argus the following day 
published a denial of the sale of the site by 
Mr. Cady. A reporter for The Argus in¬ 
terviewed Mr. Cady, and the publisher of 
The Star told him just what he had told 
Simmons. The Argus also stated that no 
such Chicago firm, named as purchaser of 
the site in The Star story, existed. 

The Argus story did not sweeten Mr. 


A BITTER LESSON 


321 


Cady’s temper. So he again insisted that 
Simmons tell him the source of his informa¬ 
tion. 

After great pressure, Simmons told him. 

Mr. Cady was furious. 

“ Mr. Simmons,” he said finally, “ you 
have been with The Star nearly a dozen 
years. You know its policy well, and you 
know I have never stooped to a low, dis¬ 
honorable trick like this. I’m glad it has 
come out this way, for not only has the 
traitor to The Argus undoubtedly been 
punished, but the still meaner man—the 
one who bribed him—will also get his due. 

“ You will immediately turn your desk 
over to Mr. Willard, who, under my in¬ 
structions, will find out just how and why 
such action was taken by The Argus . I 
shall print all the facts and apologize ed¬ 
itorially for The Star's part in the hoax.” 

“ Don’t you think it was a mean trick by 
The Argus , sir? ” 

“I do not. I do not know how Mr. 
Hunter came to do what he did, but I feel 


322 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


sure he simply took extreme measures to 
protect himself. I shall see him personally 
and apologize.” 

“We were mighty sorry to get The Star 
in bad,” Joe explained when Mr. Cady 
called later in the day, “ but we had to do 
something to trap Summers. It was the 
only way we could be certain.” 

“ Then it was your idea, Joe? ” asked Mr. 
Cady. 

“ No, sir. It was Grant Barton’s.” 

“ Well, you’re a couple of bright young 
men. If my girl were a boy, I could wish 
she were like you. I need some one like you 
to look after my affairs.” 

“ You’ll have to have a son-in-law,” 
laughed Simon Hunter. 

“Yes, and I expect I shall have some 
day,” replied Mr. Cady jokingly. “Joe is 
becoming a pretty frequent visitor.” 

Joe’s face turned a fiery red, while the 
two men looked at each other and winked. 

“ If you say so, I’ll stay away,” said the 
lad, nettled. 


A BITTER LESSON 


323 


“ Not for the world, my boy! ” exclaimed 
Mr. Cady. “ And you mustn’t take my 
jokes too seriously. I’m very fond of you, 
Joe. You know your father and I were the 
friendliest of rivals.” 

“ I know that, Mr. Cady, and I certainly 
appreciate your good opinion of me. Fur¬ 
thermore, if I hear of a good city editor, I’ll 
send him around to see you.” 

“ Thanks, but I have one, Joe. That’s 
young Willard, and he’s going to make it 
warm for you, my boy.” 

“ All right, sir, the warmer the better.” 

A few moments later Mr. Cady took his 
departure. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


A FIRE AND ITS RESULT 

Joe had now been assistant manager of 
The Argus for six months, and the time had 
come to prepare the semi-annual report. 
That it would be a favorable one could be 
gathered from the weekly sales and adver¬ 
tising reports, but even Joe himself was 
surprised when the figures finally were com¬ 
piled. 

These figures showed that the business 
had more than doubled, with a correspond¬ 
ing increase in profits. In fact, it showed 
better than that, for the expenses of the 
two papers had been by no means double 
the cost of publishing The Morning Argus . 

All the executives of the paper were 
getting much better salaries than before. 

Many of the printers, stereotypers, press¬ 
men, and reporters were making much more 

324 


A FIRE AND ITS RESULT 325 


than formerly, due to the fact that fre¬ 
quently they were able to put in extra time; 
and the business also was employing a third 
more men and women, to say nothing of its 
increase in the way of newsboys and agents 
in the city and vicinity. 

It was a showing of which any business 
man might be proud, let alone a youth of 
less than twenty. 

Of course it was not Joe alone who was 
responsible for the improvement in the 
paper’s affairs. As much, if not more, 
credit was due to Grant Barton, and Grant 
was less than twenty-two. 

Possibly the greatest credit, however, was 
due to the team-work of the employees, but 
it will have to be admitted that it was Joe’s 
enthusiasm and the desire of the others to 
help him that accounted largely for the 
esprit de corps . 

As showing that the estimate of what 
The Argus was doing financially was cor¬ 
rect, it may be stated that the company had 
made in round figures fourteen thousand 


326 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

dollars in the past six months. Most of this 
had been made in the past three. 

Possibly no one was more gratified at the 
improved condition of The Argus than was 
Simon Hunter. 

“ I’ll have to admit,” he told Joe after the 
figures had been carefully inspected, “ that 
I am a good deal of a back number. I never 
imagined Wolverton was large enough to 
support a purely local paper, much less 
make it pay.” 

“ Wolverton and vicinity, Uncle,” cor¬ 
rected Joe. “ Grant and I discovered very 
soon that the city proper wouldn’t do it. 
That’s why we enlarged the locality.” 

“ Well, however you did it, the results 
show it was wise.” 

“ And we didn’t lose ten thousand dollars, 
either, did we? ” 

“ You haven’t lost it yet,” Mr. Hunter 
admitted. 

“ Don’t you think we should do better 
this fall and winter? We have the four best 
months in the year ahead for advertising.” 


A FIRE AND ITS RESULT 327 

“ Yes, that’s true; but it means keeping 
up the work. I hardly feel equal to the 
new duties, nor do I feel that you should 
entirely give up your plans to go through 
college.” 

“ Another six months as good as these,” 
declared Joe, “ will have established The 
Evening Argus . During that time I am 
sure we can find some young man to take 
my place and relieve you of the extra work.” 

“ I hope so, Joe.” 

“ At any rate,” the lad insisted, “ there is 
no use crossing that bridge until we come to 
it. I decided to give this year to business, 
and it has done me good. Before another 
summer rolls around we shall know better 
what I can do.” 

The prediction of good business was fully 
sustained during the four succeeding 
months, and the winter, although it was a 
severe one, did not greatly interfere with the 
development of news and increased circula¬ 
tion. 

A new city editor had been obtained, and 


328 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

Grant was now acting as managing editor 
of both papers. 

Mr. Cady’s contention that his new city 
editor, Willard, would give The Argus a 
run for its money had proved correct, and 
the rivalry between the two papers was 
keener than ever; but there was never any¬ 
thing like enmity. 

Joe’s calls at the Cady residence con¬ 
tinued,—in fact, became more frequent,— 
but there never was a time when he and Mr. 
Cady and the latter’s wife and daughter 
could not discuss in the most friendly terms 
the activities of the two papers. 

It was an afternoon in March, and Joe 
was just about to close his desk for the day 
when an alarm of fire was sounded on the 
bell above his head. He was so accustomed 
to hearing these alarms that he gave the 
matter scarcely a thought until the alarm 
struck again. 

Then he counted the strokes. A down¬ 
town box was recorded. 

Joe closed his desk and walked to the 


A FIRE AND ITS RESULT 329 


street just as a fire-engine dashed by. Two 
reporters came dashing out the door. 

44 Where’s the fire? ” asked Joe. 

44 Delaney’s shoe factory.” 

The shoe factory was in the block directly 
behind The Argus building. It was an old 
building, remodeled, like all the other struc¬ 
tures in the vicinity. Even The Argus 
building, a three-story brick, was an old one, 
having been built by Joe’s father the third 
year after the paper came into his hands. 
This was one reason why Joe had never 
been able to move the Etchem engraving 
plant to The Argus quarters. 

Joe walked leisurely around the corner, 
expecting to see a little smoke and a few 
minutes’ excitement. Instead, when his 
eyes fell on the factory, it seemed com¬ 
pletely in flames. 

44 Looks mighty bad,” was his comment to 
himself. 44 They’re slow getting a stream 
on it.” 

The criticism was a good one. 

The firemen were slow in getting a stream 


330 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


of water to play on the building; so slow, as 
a matter of fact, that by the time the de¬ 
partment was out in force the fire had 
spread to the adjoining building. From 
this moment on it became a conflagration. 

In spite of the best efforts of the fire de¬ 
partment the flames spread. Fanned by a 
brisk March breeze, it was not more than 
half an hour before the whole block was 
ablaze. 

Then the wind changed suddenly and 
whipped the flames across the street toward 
the block in which The Argus building 
stood. 

Immediately several lines of hose were 
turned upon the buildings skirting the fire 
on that side of the street. But to no avail. 

In another fifteen minutes The Argus 
building was afire. 

Realizing their danger, Joe and his em¬ 
ployees took every precaution to protect the 
office records. The big fireproof safe was 
filled with the most important papers and 
locked. An effort was made to remove 


A FIRE AND ITS RESULT 331 


some of the office furniture, but the flames 
spread so rapidly that this was soon aban¬ 
doned. 

Within two hours The Argus building 
and most of the other business establish¬ 
ments in the block had been destroyed. 

It was only by tearing down the last two 
buildings in the block that firemen kept the 
flames from spreading to the heart of the 
city’s business district. 

By nine o’clock that night the fire was 
under control, but there was no Argus plant 
left. 

For the time being, all Joe’s plans were 
destroyed. 

At ten o’clock Joe and Grant rounded up 
most of the executives and other employees 
and led them to the Etchem engraving 
plant. There the heads of departments 
went into brief conference. 

Joe and Grant had already mapped out a 
plan for getting out the morning paper. It 
was quickly communicated to the others. 

“ I’ve rented the composing-room of Gar- 


332 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


ret and Walker,” Joe explained. “ McHugh, 
take as many printers over there as you 
need. Mr. Garret will have his foreman 
there to help out. Slater, you get busy 
right here with the pictures that the boys 
will bring in. We’ll run a full page of 
them. We will get out only an eight-page 
paper. Garret and Walker will attend to 
the presswork, so we’ll have no need of 
stereotypers. As for the editorial end, Mr. 
Barton will attend to that.” 

Grant’s instructions were brief and to the 
point. 

“ I’ve engaged two rooms at the Jeffer¬ 
son Hotel,” he explained. “ Manager Todd 
is already fitting them up with tables and 
typewriters. We will get our Associated 
Press reports directly from the Western 
Union office. We shall not have to bother 
about telephone connections, because they 
are already in the hotel. So far as the ed¬ 
itorial department is concerned, things will 
work out all right.” 

And they did. 


A FIRE AND ITS RESULT 333 


At the regular hour the following morn¬ 
ing The Argus made its appearance on the 
street. Only the mail edition had been dis¬ 
pensed with. To be sure, it didn’t look 
much like The Argus } but there it was. 
And its enterprise in coming out at all put 
the finishing touches on Joe’s reputation as 
a hustler. 

But what about The Evening Argus? 

That was the question that the whole city 
was asking after seeing the morning edition 
and reading about the fire. 

It was very evident that it couldn’t come 
out from The Argus building, which now 
was a mass of ruins. 

An inspection of these ruins by daylight 
showed only one wall of the building stand¬ 
ing. The big fireproof safe had fallen into 
the cellar and could be seen piled on top of 
the presses. 

It made Joe sick to look at it. His whole 
year’s work seemed to have gone for naught. 

True, the building and fixtures were in¬ 
sured up to fully three-fourths of their 


334 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


value, and there would be no trouble about 
rebuilding. In fact, there seemed no doubt 
in any one’s mind that The Argus would 
rebuild and have a more modern plant than 
before the fire. 

But what of to-day? 

“ I don’t know,” said Joe, as he and 
Grant gazed over the ruins. “ I’ve just got 
to have a few minutes’ sleep before I can 
think at all.” 

“ I feel a good deal that way myself,” de¬ 
clared Grant, “ but I think we did pretty 
well with The Morning Argus ” 

“ That’s one bright spot,” was Joe’s 
rather melancholy reply. 

Even as they were talking Mr. Hunter 
appeared. He was haggard and wan from 
the effects of the work he had tried to do 
under pressure. 

For several moments he said nothing, but 
looked about at the ruin the fire had 
wrought. 

“ Well,” he said finally, voicing the 
thought that was in the minds of the others, 


A FIRE AND ITS RESULT 335 


“ it looks pretty tough, doesn’t it? How 
about The Evening Argus, now? ” 

Neither of the boys could answer, but the 
answer came from another source. 

It was Mr. Cady who solved the problem. 


CHAPTER XXX 


THE ANSWER 

Worn out by his night’s work, Joe was 
taking a much-needed sleep. 

After the fire had been extinguished the 
night before, and arrangements completed 
for getting out an emergency issue of The 
Argus , Mr. Hunter, at the earnest solicita¬ 
tion of Joe and Grant, had gone to bed. 

“ Somebody will be needed to look after 
things to-morrow,” Joe had declared, “ and 
you will be able to do that better than I, 
Uncle Simon.” 

It was sound advice and Mr. Hunter had 
yielded. 

To-day he was on the job. His own of¬ 
fice having been destroyed, he was using one 
of the tables in the temporary offices in the 
Jefferson Hotel. 

After a glance through the paper to see 
what sort of showing the boys had made, he 

336 


THE ANSWER 


337 


found himself busy greeting old friends who 
came in to assure him of their continued 
support. Many congratulated him upon 
his ability to get out a paper following the 
fire. To all these he replied: “ I had noth¬ 
ing to do with it. All the credit belongs to 
the boys.” 

Along about nine o’clock Mr. Cady called 
him on the telephone. After an exchange 
of greetings, the publisher of The Star said: 
“ I have a little business proposition to 
make. Shall I come over to see you, or will 
you drop in here? ” 

“ I believe I had better come over there,” 
Mr. Hunter replied. “ It doesn’t look as 
though we should have much privacy here.” 

A few minutes later Mr. Hunter was 
closeted with Mr. Cady in the latter’s pri¬ 
vate office. 

“ What I wanted to talk about,” said Mr. 
Cady, when they were comfortably seated, 
“ is the future of The Argus . You haven’t 
had much time to think, but, as far as you 
have gone, what are your plans? ” 


338 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 

“Well;’ replied Mr. Hunter, “ I have 
been figuring that, for the time being, we 
could go ahead as we did last night. Within 
a few days I shall be able to rent a tem¬ 
porary office. Then I can set up a few 
linotypes, and Garret and Walker can con¬ 
tinue with the presswork. Of course, I shall 
rebuild just as soon as the insurance has 
been adjusted.” 

“ That’s very well for the morning paper, 
Hunter,” said Mr. Cady, “ but you will be 
too cramped to handle the afternoon editions 
as well.” 

“ The Evening Argus, I am afraid, will 
have to be discontinued, temporarily,” de¬ 
clared Mr. Hunter. “I’m awfully sorry, 
because Joe took such pride in it.” 

Mr. Cady was silent for several minutes 
before he said: “ Do you know I took a lot 
of pride in The Evening Argus myself? 
Yes,” he continued as Mr. Hunter looked 
his surprise, “ I took pride in it as a city in¬ 
stitution. I was glad we had one newspaper 
man in Wolverton who was picking up 


THE ANSWER 339 

modern ideas; and I was particularly glad 
it was Joe.” 

“Joe’s a bright boy,” Mr. Hunter ad¬ 
mitted. 

“ So he is, Hunter; and now I’ve a propo¬ 
sition to make. Why not consolidate The 
Argus and The Star?” 

If Mr. Hunter’s surprise had been great 
before, it was greater now. 

“I’ve figured it all out, Hunter,” Mr. 
Cady went on. “I sat up half the night, 
and I’ve been at it again this morning. It 
would be a good thing for both of us.” 

“ What’s your plan? ” asked Mr. Hunter. 

“Briefly this: I will buy The Evening 
Argus outright—take over its contracts, its 
circulations, and ideas. If Joe desires it, 
I’ll also buy the Etchem engraving plant. 
Then we will make some arrangements 
whereby The Morning Argus will be 
printed in The Star plant, just as The 
Evening Argus was printed in The Morn¬ 
ing Argus plant. I haven’t worked out the 
details fully, but if the plan is agreeable to 



340 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


you, there should be no great difficulty 
about it.” 

For some moments Mr. Hunter con¬ 
sidered the matter without saying a word. 
When he spoke at last there were tears in 
his eyes. 

“ It looks to me as though The Argus 
were getting all the best of the proposition,” 
he declared. 

“ Not a bit of it! I know The Argus has 
been making money lately. My position in 
financial circles has enabled me to keep in 
pretty close touch with what you have been 
doing. I am also free to confess that, in the 
last six months, The Star has not made a 
cent—in fact, has been losing more than I 
care to confess. It looks to me like a chance 
to stop losing money. 

“ Then there is another thing,” Mr. Cady 
continued with a smile. “ It looks to me as 
though this might finally work out as a 
family affair. Joe and Hattie have been 
sweethearts since they were in pinafores. 
If matters progress farther, well-” 



THE ANSWER 341 

Mr. Cady broke off and Mr. Hunter 
laughed. 

“ That’s so,” he said, “ but we’d better 
not let on that we know how things are 
shaping up. If we do, we’re likely to scare 
them off.” 

“ Then you are in favor of the consolida¬ 
tion? ” 

“ I am. You have a big fine building 
here, with plenty of room. I am getting 
along in years, and the idea of rebuilding 
looms up as a hard task. Furthermore, I 
could use the time to look after my other 
interests. I haven’t told Joe yet, but it 
looks as though those copper mines in which 
his father invested seven years ago are go¬ 
ing to pay big. I’d like to stay down there 
and watch them for a while. 

“ There is just one thing I would not like 
to give up, and that is, the identity of The 
Argus . I should still want it to be The 
Argus.” 

“ Why not hyphenate it, then? ” 

“ All right. Call it The Star-Argus; 


342 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


I’m going to let you arrange the details with 
Joe. I’ll ’phone his mother to call him. Can 
you see him right away? ” 

“ Any time that suits him. But there is 
just one thing I’d like to speak of. Here¬ 
tofore The Evening Argus has been a tab¬ 
loid. Now, under the consolidation, it is not 
my idea to make a tabloid of The Star- 
Argus” 

“ Naturally not,” Mr. Hunter agreed. 
“ The Star-Argus will be a regulation-sized 
newspaper; The Morning Argus, of course, 
will retain its individuality.” 

It was a little more than an hour later 
when Joe arrived at Mr. Cady’s office. 
While the lad had shown plenty of business 
nerve the past six months, it must be ad¬ 
mitted that he was a bit unsteady when he 
entered the office of the publisher of The 
Star. To Joe, Mr. Cady had always been 
the big man of the city. Now to be called 
into a business conference with him seemed 
a very important matter. 

But Joe soon found out what many an- 


THE ANSWER 


343 


other young man has discovered: The bigger 
the man, the easier it is to do business with 
him. The really big man is liberal, kind, 
and modest. There is in him nothing of the 
bully or tyrant. 

Thus it was that Joe, greatly to his relief, 
found Mr. Cady. 

“ Well, Joe,” he said by way of greeting, 
“ you’ve had a little hard luck, but that’s 
what we must always be prepared for. If 
it were not for the knocks, we should never 
know how strong we really are.” 

44 1 guess that’s right, Mr. Cady,” Joe 
agreed. 44 1 felt pretty blue last night, but 
I’m better now. When I saw that fire eat¬ 
ing up our business, I thought I was all 
through.” 

Mr. Cady smiled. 

44 There was one thing the fire didn’t eat 
up, Joe,” he declared, 44 and that’s your 
pluck and business reputation. Both have 
come out brighter because of the fire. You 
have won the commendation and esteem of 
your fellow-citizens. And you must keep 


344 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


it. It is the newspaper publisher’s best 
asset. 

“ Now to the business in hand. Your 
uncle and I have decided that it is wise to 
consolidate the papers under the name of 
The Star-Argus. 33 

“ Uncle Simon told me that much, sir. It 
sounds fair to me, but you won’t forget, will 
you, Mr. Cady, that The Evening Ar¬ 
gus -" 

“ —is your own child,” Mr. Cady inter¬ 
rupted. “No, Joe, I will not, and I want 
The Evening Star-Argus to be just what 
The Evening Argus has been, with the ex¬ 
ception of size. If we are to have only one 
afternoon paper, it must be big enough to 
carry all the news and all the advertise¬ 
ments. But I want you to dictate its policy, 
just as you have that of The Evening 
Argus. And now as to details. Have you 
thought about the merger at all? ” 

“ No, sir. I should like to see Grant 
Barton in a good place, however, and I sup¬ 
pose there should be some valuation fixed.” 



THE ANSWER 


345 


Mr. Cady laughed. 

“ It’s a great thing to be young,” he said. 
“ One of the greatest things about youth is 
loyalty to one’s friends. You needn’t worry 
about Grant; I’ve been wanting to get him 
for months. I’m free to tell you, Joe, that 
it is the desire to get hold of you two that 
first set me thinking about this consolida¬ 
tion. 

“ This is the plan as I have worked it out, 
though it is subject to change: We shall in¬ 
corporate The Star-Argus Company with 
a capital of two hundred and fifty thousand 
dollars. It shall be divided equally between 
the Hunters and the Cadys. I shall be the 
nominal general manager. You will be my 
assistant. Grant Barton shall be the man¬ 
aging editor of both editions. I think you 
will find Willard a good city editor. You 
will retain your present staff of morning- 
paper workers, both in the news and circula¬ 
tion departments. Out of the two forces we 
will retain all the active advertising men. 
You and I can fix the salaries later.” 


346 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


“ How about Uncle Simon, sir? ” 

“ He tells me that he wishes to retire, to 
look after some other properties, of which 
he will tell you later.” 

“ How about the Etchem Engraving 
Company? ” 

“ That belongs to you personally, I be¬ 
lieve? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ What’ll you take for it? ” 

“ It’s worth all of ten thousand dollars 
to-day.” 

“ My judgment is that The Star-Argus 
Company should buy it of you and move it 
into The Star building. We shall have to 
take over another floor of the building, so 
that we shall have plenty of room.” 

“ The Star-Argus Company will not own 
the building, sir? ” 

“ Oh, no. The building belongs to Mrs. 
Cady. It was built with money left by her 
father, and will eventually belong to Hat¬ 
tie; but we get our quarters at a reasonable 
rent.” 


THE ANSWER 347 

“And when,” asked Joe, “will this con¬ 
solidation go into effect? ” 

To-morrow, if you like. Announce¬ 
ment can be made in The Argus to-morrow 
morning.” 

Joe looked up at Mr. Cady and laughed. 

“ It looks easy,” he said. “ I had no idea 
such a big deal could be arranged with so 
little trouble.” 

“ Joe,” said Mr. Cady earnestly, “ it is 
no trouble to arrange any business deal if 
each man interested is willing to be fair and 
honest with the other. It is only when each 
fellow tries to get the better of the other 
that the task becomes difficult. 

“ Now, there is one other matter that I 
want to settle with you alone. That is your 
own future. I want you to complete your 
education. I want you to have a college 
training. 

“ During the coming summer the business 
will get the benefit of your ideas. By the 
time college opens in the fall, you will be 
able to turn your duties over to another and 


348 THE NEWSPAPER GAME 


resume your studies. Each summer you can 
put in your time around the office. During 
the winter I am sure I shall have time to 
look after the business. 

“ Take the ten thousand dollars you re¬ 
ceive for the Etchem Engraving Company 
and use every cent of it for advancing 
yourself mentally. There are going to be 
plenty of profits, as well as places, for every 
one, and—well, Joe, I consider myself a 
lucky man to have made this deal.” 

Joe’s face flushed to his ears. 

“ It looks to me as though I were the one 
in luck,” he declared. “ You don’t think 
I’ll wake up and find it a dream, do you? ” 

“No danger of that, Joe. Now, take the 
remainder of the day off for a little recrea¬ 
tion. You might take Hattie out for a 
drive and tell her about the new arrange¬ 
ment. It will all be news to her.” 

Joe followed Mr. Cady’s advice. 


THE END 

















































































































































































































































